


We'll Have To Make It On Our Own

by nverenders



Category: Victoria (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, POV Third Person Limited, Slow Burn, drummond doesnt die, no one dies, sort of? i mean its how it went down in the series i guess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-01-29 23:07:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12641169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nverenders/pseuds/nverenders
Summary: He had a handsome face; masculine, clean shaven, with defined cheekbones and nicely shaped brown eyes. His eyebrows furrowed only slightly when he was trying especially hard to be interested in the subject spoken about, and his lips remained an expressionless line. He seemed like a serious man, and Alfred couldn’t help but wonder what he looked like smiling. He felt it would suit him well.Alfred and Drummond's story, as seen by Alfred. Except, you know, no one dies.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> alright so i already have like 10k words of this written, so im gonna update it weekly i think? maybe twice a week, we'll see. chapters will b some 2k words each i think? i plan to do like,, the entirety od season 2 and then we'll see what happens afterwards! please let me know if you like it im spending way too much time writing, rewriting and editing this at the expense of my grades so like,, rip in rest.

Alfred Paget was the second youngest son of his family, with no less than five older brothers, and a total of eight sisters and half-sisters. He was born into a respected, wealthy family, and as such, he and his siblings had always had promising futures. When Alfred was young, he looked up to his older brothers a lot and, in a way, followed their footsteps.

It had been easier when he was just a child – his eldest few brothers already almost fully grown men – and he was sure he would turn out exactly like them; an honourable career, a beautiful house, and a charming wife. However, despite the first two being almost guaranteed, the prospect of falling in love with a woman didn’t seem to be. As Alfred grew up, reaching the age where most boys started to naturally develop affections for them, he felt nothing. He felt no more for women than he did before. They could be smart, funny, kind, rude, understanding, insightful, distant, pleasant, pretty, and charming – but never attractive. He didn’t notice this until his family (mainly his brothers) started asking him if he had an eye for any pretty girl, if he’d had his first kiss, if there was any girl at all he was interested in. There wasn’t. At first he waited; sometimes it just took a while, some said, but when nothing kept happening, it became apparent to Alfred that something was wrong.

Insistent on resolving the matter, Alfred started to try. He started spending more time in the company of young women his age, tried to make himself feel something for their figures and smiles and soft locks of hair. But no matter how much he tried to convince himself it worked, it never did. And for a young man who had spent his whole life reading about and dreaming of falling in love, it was an unsettling realisation.

But then, he noticed something much more frightening; Alfred would often catch himself looking at young men; his acquaintances, his friends, his brothers’ friends – even the odd servant. There was something enchanting about their short hair, broad shoulders and harder facial features. Their smiles stirred something in his chest, something no young woman’s smile ever did. It scared him senseless. They started to appear in his dreams, lovely young men with strong arms and deep voices and beautiful lips – they’d kiss him, hold him, touch him and whisper how they loved him. He’d wake up ashamed and ridden with guilt, the thought of having such desires that were never spoken about, or if they were, only with utmost disgust and judgement. Being from a protestant family, Alfred resorted to praying. But, as everything he tried before, it did not work, and Alfred found himself at a dead end. He realised he could not change. No matter how desperately he begged God to do so, his prayers had fallen on deaf ears. Something inside him shifted then; he was no longer just the sixth son of Lord Paget – he was a man with a dangerous secret, one that could never be found out.

Alfred resorted to reading, as he often did. Although no book available to him could explain the nature and reason for his state, he found something much better. It was when he decided to reread the Iliad. It had always been a dear story of Alfred’s, so whole and immersive, depicting a world Alfred was not a part of in great detail. This epic story of war, wrath, honour, and death seemed different that time around. The friendship of Patroclus and Achilles spoke to Alfred in a way he hadn’t registered before – it had been love. It was obvious to him then, that this relationship exceeded friendship. Patroclus’ death rang louder and heavier, and finally Alfred found some comfort. That right there had been an example, a permission of sorts; men like him existed, they always had. They lived and they loved, their relationships honest and real.

The Iliad was like the first raindrop of self-acceptance. Through reading it, Alfred realised a great deal about himself, and the world as a whole. Bit by bit, his initial hopelessness and disgust started to melt away. Everything he’d been told was wrong, he came to know, because he was not a sodomite, nor a sinner. God, the bible, the Church – they were all against him and he found that he no longer cared for their laws. He was just a man, he tried to be honest and good, to live a life of strong morals, but if the Church rejected him for something that came so naturally, he rejected it right back. A man could be good and true on his own, without being forced to live in shame. He was in open rebellion against everything he’d been taught, even if it was in his own mind. There was finally clarity, a truce he made with himself. He wasn’t sick – he was alright. He was unusual, but alright.

 

***

In his twenties, Alfred became Chief Equerry and Clerk Marshal to Queen Victoria. He had a seat in the House of Commons, was a member of the Liberal party, and generally lived a life any man would be jealous of. His position was steady, interesting, and, at times, exciting. He fulfilled his duties, was politically active, mingled with high society and was generally an easy-going, light-hearted man most people seemed to find agreeable.

Yet Alfred had to live with a secret bigger than most people could dream of having. It wasn’t something that influenced his day-to-day life much, but Alfred had always dreamed of love. He wanted someone he could share his life with, he wanted to be loved back, and sometimes this loneliness he’d fall into was a bit too much to bear. Just gazing at attractive men – being careful his eyes wouldn’t linger for too long – was never enough to fill that desire for something deeper, something real and honest and full of genuine love. He’d never fallen in love; there were some men he caught himself wishing he could have more than others, but it was never love. He knew he was more than capable of it – he was just yet to meet a man to succeed in pushing him over the edge. He tried not to feel hopeless, but it was hard; men like him were scarce and being anything less than most subtle was extremely dangerous, considering the law’s stance of these matters. If anyone found out, everything Alfred had achieved would be snatched away from him; he’d be ruined, and his family would have an irremovable stain on their name for years to come. It was hard not to feel hopeless.

Alfred had been working for the Queen for a few years when Sir Robert Peel became Prime Minister. Alfred wasn’t very fond of Tories, but Peel’s policies were in place and he seemed like a respectable man. The Queen did not like him, that much was apparent, but it didn’t matter – he was elected and he was going to stay, even if he wasn’t the most pleasant of men. He’d come to the palace to discuss politics with the Queen and Alfred stood behind her, often having to be present. Most of the things they talked about weren’t particularly interesting, and Alfred found his thoughts drifting away. But soon, a young man started appearing next to Peel, carrying his papers and standing behind him in meetings in a similar way Alfred stood behind Victoria. He learned he was the Prime Minister’s private secretary – an aspiring politician with a promising future named Edward Drummond. He paid more attention than Alfred did, or at least he tried to. It was amusing watching him try and fight off boredom, his seemingly endless attempts to be interested in any and every political matter Victoria and Peel discussed.

He had a handsome face; masculine, clean shaven, with defined cheekbones and nicely shaped brown eyes. His eyebrows furrowed only slightly when he was trying especially hard to be interested in the subject spoken about, and his lips remained an expressionless line. He seemed like a serious man, and Alfred couldn’t help but wonder what he looked like smiling. He felt it would suit him well. He was taller and more muscular than Alfred was, and his clothes fit him well. His brown hair was neatly combed, the curls standing in place with almost mathematical precision. In a lack of better thing to do, Alfred studied him, took in the way he moved and (admittedly rarely) spoke. He wondered what he thought about and how long it would take until he, too, gave up paying attention. Sometimes, when Alfred was looking at him, he’d meet his eyes and every time he did, Alfred felt his pulse quicken.

He started thinking about him when he wasn’t there; what he was doing and if he ever thought about him. It wasn’t likely since they’d never spoken properly, but sometimes he’d give in to fantasy, imagining him wondering about Alfred the same way. He felt a need to be around him more, and he started going a bit out of his way to see him, deliberately walking around the Queen’s study when he knew he’d be there. On one occasion, Alfred heard he and Peel were at the palace to discuss some political business with the Queen and, although he wasn’t summoned, he made his way there, as if by accident.

He reached the archway separating the study from the hallway and remained there, casually turning himself towards the window, as if there was something incredibly eye-catching outside, but really he was trying to catch a glimpse of Drummond from the corner of his eye. He couldn’t hear what they spoke about, but soon enough Prince Albert rushed in and the conversation continued. Alfred began to walk towards them, when little Dash jumped out of Victoria’s lap and ran to greet him. Alfred loved dogs, he loved Dash, but he didn’t quite know what to do with himself so in the spur of the moment (having decided that kneeling down to play with him would make him seem rather foolish) he swiftly picked him up. It was then that he realised that he, in fact, was not very experienced in holding dogs; his own dog was a beautiful, rather large Dalmatian named Mr Bumps, and Alfred hadn’t held him since he was a puppy. His inexperience was instantly obvious – he reckoned he resembled a very unskilled mother with no parental instinct whatsoever holding a baby she didn’t quite feel as her own.

“We should have a soiree,” Victoria said. “Here at the Palace, for these remarkable minds. What do you think, Sir Robert?”

“Splendid idea, ma’am,” Peel agreed. “The crown should be seen to be taking an interest in the scientific life of the nation.”

“I agree,” Albert said simply, and then Victoria turned to Alfred.

“Perhaps we should sprinkle some other talents – to leaven the scientists. Lord Alfred?”

“Perhaps… La Taglioni would dance for us?” he suggested, trying to adjust his arms in an attempt to look more graceful, but he was afraid it did quite the opposite. Ballet was sure to appeal to anyone who might find themselves a guest at Buckingham Palace, and Victoria seemed to agree.

“Yes, wonderful” she sounded pleased. “And you could pick the scientists, Mr Drummond.”

Drummond stepped out; “With pleasure, ma’am.”

His tone caught Alfred’s attention – he sounded amused. He quickly looked up, only to see that Drummond had a small yet unmistakable smile on his lips. He was amused, Alfred realised, and his heartbeat picked up. Amusement wasn’t ideal, but it was something, and Alfred couldn’t supress a smile of his own. He was right – a smile suited Drummond wonderfully.

Then, Drummond started to appear in Alfred’s dreams. They were just plain dreams of the everyday, but Drummond found his way into most of them, usually standing by Alfred’s side, smiling or talking or being serious. There was one particular dream he had, the only one that would repeat itself, and it differed slightly from the other ones. It was very simple, but it was as if it had ingrained itself into Alfred’s subconscious; he and Drummond were lying in a clear green field, alone and happy and free. They laughed at something Alfred could never remember, and then Drummond would roll onto his side and put a hand on Alfred’s torso, tracing it up until it was on his neck. Alfred would cup his cheek then, their laughter completely gone, and they’d lean in and – suddenly, it was all gone. Alfred woke up every morning just as their lips were about to touch, the magic disappearing as he opened his eyes only to see the painted walls of his room.

The dream itself was pleasant, but it was dangerous. Alfred started to realise his feelings for Drummond slowly became more than mere attraction, and to indulge himself further could do him no good.

However, regardless of what every rational bone in his body screamed, Alfred started acting differently around Drummond. It was a hardly noticeable change, certainly too subtle to be perceived by anyone other than perhaps Drummond himself, but it was there. His skin felt like it was buzzing whenever Drummond was near, his eyes fixating on him for longer periods. He’d always been unable to hide emotions, and now it seemed like it was utterly impossible to stop his face from lighting up every time he saw him. On his more hopeful days, he thought he noticed a change in Drummond’s behaviour as well; like they both craved a closeness and honestly they couldn’t quite describe or name. Even though he continuously warned himself to be careful and not to give in to hope, Alfred became bolder in satisfying his need to find out if Drummond felt something too. He’d say things that suggested his lack of attraction to women while directly looking at Drummond, or he’d lock eyes with him in some unseemly moments – all in hope the other man would understand.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two! i think i'm gonna update on sundays and thursdays, but if i dont its probs because i didnt have the time and ill get around to it soon.  
> thank you all for the lovely comments on the first chapter!!! hope you enjoy!

As Chief Equerry and Clerk Marshal, Alfred accompanied Victoria on most of her excursions. The day when she decided to visit Brocket Hall was no different, and it was no accident she went  to see the former Prime Minister now, when Albert was spending so much time with the Royal Society and Lady Lovelace. The soiree had been a success, but Alfred dared to think the Queen didn’t find Lady Lovelace as intriguing as the Prince did. He, himself, had a lovely time; the ballet was good, although his gaze drifted to the back of Drummond’s head more than a few times, and the guests were incredibly interesting. Alfred couldn’t say he knew all too much about mathematics, but he enjoyed talking with the scientists nonetheless. However, Albert spent most of his time talking to Charles Babbage and Lady Lovelace, and it was relatively obvious to see it displeased Victoria.

And that was how Alfred found himself standing outside Lord Melbourne’s greenhouse with Lady Emma Portman for hours on end. It was tedious, as there was nothing to do, and it tired Alfred both physically and mentally. The scenery was cultivated and pretty but nothing worth admiring for all too long, so after a single turn around, Alfred was left with nothing to do but stand. Lady Portman seemed just as inconvenienced was he was, so he offered her his flask after taking a sip. Perhaps a few drops of whiskey would make the wait more bearable, even if it was a tad frowned upon.

Lady Portman had eyed the flask with a small, almost devilish smile before taking a swift, elegant swig and giving it back as if nothing had happened. Alfred had to smile – it was amusing, and perhaps the most exciting thing that happened that day.

When they returned, it was already dark outside, and Alfred was in a sour mood. It had been a long, uneventful day and he was positively exhausted. He went straight for the small balcony he liked to frequent, and took out his small tinderbox and a cigarette to ease his nerves. But, it seemed the whole world was against Alfred that day, because the tinderbox just didn’t want to cooperate. It was as if it knew how displeased and tired he was, and decided to push his limits a bit further. It was pointless, but Alfred kept trying to light it up, feeling too sunken down to even feel frustrated.

It was then that Drummond passed the balcony and spotted him.

“Is the Queen back? I have some papers for her from the Prime Minister,” he said, slowly stepping outside.

His voice caught Alfred’s attention all too quickly. He tensed a bit, cursing the way his pulse picked up. He was too tired to come up with something witty as he usually did, so he just took in a breath and hoped all would go well.

“She is,” he said simply. He looked down to his miserable, spent tinderbox and felt the need to explain himself. “It’s been a very trying day,” he said, showcasing the unlit cigarette in hopes Drummond would understand.

Drummond smiled and took out a very sophisticated looking tinderbox of his own from his coat. “This might help,” he said quietly, stepping closer to him.

The fire rose effortlessly. “How well equipped you are,” Alfred couldn’t think of anything else to say. Truth be told, he was overcome by an inexplicable wave of sadness, probably a result of his tiredness. He lit his cigarette and took in a drag.

“I never go anywhere without my tinderbox,” Drummond said proudly. He had a most breath-taking grin on his face, and when their eyes met, Alfred found it harder to breathe. Drummond’s eyes searched his, and Alfred’s veins felt like they were going to burst. He was suddenly terrified, his heartbeat so loud it was a miracle Drummond couldn’t hear it, ice settling in his stomach. At that moment, he thought there had to be something. Surely Drummond must have felt something, because Alfred had never been looked at that way by a man. As much as the prospect should have elated him, fear overpowered it. It was a dangerous, risky thing. Alfred had no experience in these matters – how could he know if he was reading too much into it, making something out of nothing? He preferred to keep a safe distance between them, more comfortable with vague implications and secret gazes. He didn’t quite know what he’d do if an opportunity to be more frank rose.

So Alfred held his breath until Drummond sent him a final, winning smile and returned inside, going on with his business. Only then did Alfred breathe out, the smoke forming a cloud in front of his face. He leaned onto the balcony railing and screwed his eyes shut for a few seconds before opening them up again. He didn’t know what to think. A headache started to develop, so after finishing his cigarette, Alfred went straight to bed. He dreamed that god-forsaken dream again; the one where he and Drummond laid in a field and woke up feeling even more pulled apart.

 

***

The ball was Drummond’s idea, really. The Queen said the word, but it was Drummond who led her to it, with a little help from Alfred. There was some trouble with the silk weavers of Spitalfield – cheaper, low quality imports were threatening their work, and since there was no law to regulate these things, the Queen was insistent on helping them on her own. So a ball where all the guests were required to wear Spitalfield silk was the only logical move.

The Prime Minister wasn’t overjoyed with the idea. In fact, he shot Alfred and Drummond a borderline venomous look as he proceeded to tell the Queen of Marie Antoinette and the growing displeasure of the common people. Victoria, stubborn as ever, didn’t care to take his advice seriously and for once, Alfred was glad for it. Although the Prime Minister had a point, Alfred was very keen on balls. All the guests looked their best, the tables filled with some of the most splendid food and drink, there was music and dancing and careless, happy chatter. Alfred was a good dancer too, and although he didn’t feel anything but friendship for his blushing, pretty partners, he enjoyed it all the same.

A few days after the Queen decided they were to have a ball, she announced the theme would be medieval, and everyone was to dress accordingly. While the idea certainly was good, Alfred was at a loss as to who he should go as. A knight, of course, was an idea he had (and to be fair, most men did), but it simply didn’t seem unique enough.

He was lost in his musings about the costume when he ran into Drummond, this time by pure accident.

“Drummond!” he greeted happily, not even trying to supress a smile growing on his face.

“Lord Alfred,” he said as politely as he always did, smiling as well. “I was just on my way to deliver some papers to the Queen. Is she in her study?”

“I believe she is,” Alfred provided.

Since their moment on the balcony, Drummond started showing up at the Palace more often, a stack of papers ever in his hand. A small part of Alfred hoped he had something to do with Drummond’s increasing presence, but he supposed it was his duty as Peel’s secretary.

“I was just thinking about the ball,” Alfred mentioned, not wanting the conversation to die just yet. “Have you decided who you’re going to go as?”

“Not quite,” Drummond admitted. “I considered dressing up as a knight of some sorts, but I imagine it’s not very original.”

“I’m afraid not – I had the same idea,” Alfred smiled. There was a small but pleasant pause, the two not breaking eye contact. Alfred felt warmth spread inside him. “Perhaps we could think of something together. Here, I’ll walk with you.”

They began making their way through the Palace side by side, Alfred continuing on his musings. He liked the idea of them having a matching costume. “A special order of knights could freshen the idea up a bit, don’t you think?”

Drummond hummed, frowning as he always did when he was thinking. “Yes, I believe it might.” He thought for a while before speaking again. “How about the Templars?”

“The Templars?” Alfred echoed. “Well, it’s certainly interesting,” he said. A religious theme wouldn’t be his choice, but it was the most recognizable order of knights from the period, and it could look quite good. “I like it,” he said in the end.

They stopped outside Victoria’s study, looking at each other for a few moments. When Alfred could no longer bear it, he patted Drummond on the shoulder in a manner he hoped conveyed sincerity. Drummond smiled at him.

“We should talk more about the design after you’ve finished, if you have the time,” Alfred offered, “and I could go and arrange it with the weavers in the next few days.”

“That would be wonderful,” Drummond nodded, so they said their goodbyes for the little while and parted.

Alfred waited outside for no more than a few minutes before Drummond came out. They went to the library to study the Templars’ armour and uniforms, so to speak, before settling on a simple, dark blue sort of floral-ish design. Alfred didn’t care all too much, if he was being honest, but he liked to spend time with Drummond.

When the date of the ball finally arrived, Alfred was excited. He was pleased with how their costumes turned out, and was eager to see Drummond wearing his. He arrived to the ball room relatively early, watching the guests flood in in their colourful, medieval dresses, capes, and headwear. The atmosphere was lovely; people idly chatting as the small orchestra played, the tables full of the most extraordinary food and drink. He made small talk with some Lords and Ladies, talked to Wilhelmina about Prince Ernest’s Robin Hood costume, discussed dogs with a Duke whose name he forgot, and received many compliments on his own costume. He kept glancing at the entrance, hoping it would make Drummond arrive sooner, but it was no good. He was already on his third glass of wine when he finally came, and Alfred couldn’t help but grin widely as he approached him. He looked dashing in his costume, and Alfred sadly wished they could dance together. They only managed to exchange a few words, smiles spread on both their faces, before Victoria and Albert made a grant entrance. They looked positively regal – more than usual – and once they sat down on the throne and the clapping died down, the dancing began.

Alfred had a wonderful time, graciously moving to the music, his eyes barely glancing at his partner and instead trying to catch Drummond’s next to him. They kept smiling at each other, the alcohol relaxing Alfred a bit and perhaps even making him a tad careless.

Once his feet started to feel sore, Alfred returned to the tables for a bite to eat, making pleasant conversation with the other guests in the process. He seemed to have lost Drummond somewhere so, excusing himself, he set out to find him. He made a circle around the room, but then noticed him standing in the corridor right outside.

When he came a little closer, he could see him staring absently at a painting, seemingly lost in his thoughts. He looked like some sort of a renaissance painting himself, Alfred thought, so beautiful and immersed it was hardly believable. He stopped for a moment, wondering how to approach him, before remembering the lines of that one Keats poem – La Belle Dame sans Merci. It only seemed appropriate, considering Drummond’s outfit, and he didn’t think he’d mind anyway.

“Oh, what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,” he quoted dramatically, playing with the helmet in his hands. “Alone and palely loitering?” he finished, a smile decorating his face already.

Drummond snapped from his thoughts and turned around startled, but his expression softened when he saw Alfred.

“Why aren’t you in there, delighting the damsels?” Alfred asked only half-seriously when he reached him, perhaps standing a bit too close, but his tone remained amused and light, even though there was something searching in his eyes.

“I don’t know, Lord Alfred,” Drummond exhaled, not sounding all too amused. Then, a small smile crept onto his lips and he spoke again; “Why aren’t you?”

The tone he used was different than any Alfred had heard before, and he couldn’t help but be a little taken aback, his ever-present smile quickly vanishing. The tone was slightly challenging, but at the same time warm and understanding. Alfred didn’t know what he understood, or better yet he didn’t know what he hoped Drummond understood. It was like he was in a constant state of war with himself; one side insistent on getting as close to Drummond as he could get, insistent on taking whatever it was he hoped they could have, while the other side was desperate to stop it, so terrified of everything that was happening that it wanted to push it down and away before it had the chance to develop.

He composed himself in the end, realising his face had perhaps given away too much, so he flashed Drummond a bit of a cryptic, curious smile and patted him on the arm before moving past him.

He took note of the way his heartbeat increased, and cursed himself for being so indecisive and unsure. Yet again, he didn’t know what to think or do about the situation at hand. It was fascinating, how complicated something that seemed so trivial could be. There was no point in denying he was falling in love, and for a second wondered if it would have been easier if he knew he didn’t stand a chance. Because this way, hope was as torturous as it was nurturing.

He avoided Drummond for the rest of the evening, returning to dance until he could no longer stand, and then indulging himself in a few more drinks and trivial talks with various other distinguished guests. The room gradually emptied itself, and soon Alfred was too tired to keep up with all the conversation, so he said his goodbyes and retreated to his chambers.

The costume was a struggle to take off, but the relief of putting on his bedclothes was unspeakable. He smoked a cigarette before climbing into bed and, although he was tired, he found he could not fall asleep right away. He picked up the first book his finger fell upon on the shelf – a collection of poems by John Keats. Alfred smiled sadly, finding it ironic. He didn’t, however, put it away, and instead decided reading for a while couldn’t do any harm.


	3. Chapter 3

Alfred had no real intention of avoiding Drummond. He panicked at the ball, but it was not a long-term decision. He reckoned he couldn’t make himself stay away anyway, not when hope was so overwhelming. He’d given himself some time to think over the course of a few weeks after the ball, and he came to realise his fear and uncertainty were of no real use. He came to terms with the fact that he was irrevocably, undeniably in love with the man. He was so frightened of it before, but perhaps he didn’t need to be, because it was becoming apparent Drummond felt it too. The looks and smiles he gave him, the way he caught his eye, the tone he used for him – they were unique, special, and Alfred knew it simply had to be more than friendship. Drummond mimicked Alfred’s behaviour – or perhaps it was the other way around – and they were in sync, even if it took some time to notice, and even if a part of Alfred still silently worried he was too hopeful. Nonetheless, he decided to try and shed the unnecessary fear as it was only holding him back, and he gave himself permission to explore further, to see just how far Drummond’s attraction went. Because for Alfred, it was turning into love.

Despite his own positive growth, the court soon fell into a different mood. News of Prince Albert’s father’s passing smothered the ever-present light chatter of the Palace, making everything quieter and gloomier. Alfred didn’t think many people liked the old man, but it was only respectful to at least pretend to mourn.

Nonetheless, no matter how polite and respectful Alfred was, the sudden change of atmosphere annoyed him. He was a witty, fun-loving man and this depressing, constant melancholy was pressing down on him and making him squeamish. He longed for loud laughter and careless smiles; the grieving state of seemingly everyone around him spreading onto him as well, no matter how much he tried to avoid it.

On one particularly dull, cloudy day, he found he could no longer bear this excruciating, silent setting, but there was no one at all who seemed in the mood for some light-heartedness. He saw Wilhelmina playing Chopin in the piano room, but she looked so uncharacteristically sad he didn’t even try and approach her; the Duchess of Buccleuch wasn’t exactly grieving, but Alfred didn’t care for her bitter commentary so he excused himself from her company; and the rest of the court and servants seemed to have vanished. He was left to mindlessly wander the halls, before deciding it was time to smoke some of his growing tension away. He made his way to the small balcony that had become a sort of a favourite spot of his, only to see it was already occupied.

Drummond was leaning against the railing facing the gardens, and Alfred said nothing until he was stepping out himself.

“Drummond,” he greeted then, his voice laced with pleasant surprise. “What brings you to this corner of the Palace?”

 Drummond looked startled only for a fraction of a second, his expression immediately softening as his eyes fell upon Alfred, just like it did at the ball. Alfred casually approached him, stopping only when he was standing right next to him, and lit his cigarette with a match.

“A dark day for the Prince,” Drummond finally spoke, but his voice wasn’t as painfully depressing as the others’ were. He was merely stating a fact, the death having nothing to do with him or his business. “I wonder if the Queen will accompany him to the funeral?”

Alfred hummed and thought for a bit, relieved there was someone he could talk to, even if the topic remained on the royal death. “I think not,” he concluded in the end. “The Queen has been… out of sorts since the birth,” he elaborated.

It was true, he thought; Victoria’s absence could be traced to the birth of her second child, the event somehow turning her into a ghostly version of herself. She never laughed or smiled anymore, spoke much less and barely left her chambers. She seemed distant from every conversation she had and no subject was interesting or entertaining or serious enough to wake her up from the trance she’d fallen into.

“I would’ve thought she’d be happy to have secured an heir,” Drummond wondered out loud, looking at Alfred as if he might have some more information, some sort of explanation. He didn’t.

“Well,” he began, catching Drummond’s eye in a most telling manner; “I suppose we will never understand the fairer sex, will we?” he asked, allowing himself to give Drummond a small wink.

Drummond smiled at him. It was one of those special smiles, the ones he only shared with Alfred, and it was apparent he understood what Alfred was really saying and thinking.

“I should be heading back,” Drummond said after a while. Alfred merely nodded – Drummond was always bound by duty, rarely sparing more than a few moments for casual, aloof conversation. He supposed it wasn’t unusual for a man in his position, being Peel’s secretary and all, but he still wished he had more time to spare.

He saw him again only a few days after Albert had gone to Cobourg for his father’s funeral, and this time they were in the presence of both Victoria and Peel in the Queen’s study. The construction of the tunnel underneath the Themes had finally come to an end, and it was expected that she would attend.

Victoria, however, didn’t seem to care. In fact, Drummond’s speech on the importance and impressiveness of the tunnel didn’t even seem to reach her ears at all; instead, she was absently drawing Albert’s profile on some assumably trivial documents. Alfred was slightly concerned.

“I expect you would like to attend an event of such national significance, ma’am,” Peel’s voice finally made her look up after it became obvious Drummond’s words had fallen on deaf ears.

“I… I can’t,” she sounded very much unlike herself. Alfred exchanged a worried glance with Drummond.

Once again, Peel handed the word over to his secretary, who stepped forward and laid a box onto Victoria’s desk. “Perhaps you might take a look this, ma’am,” he said.

The box was a most charming illustration of the construction, with people popping out and standing in the tunnel while the Themes flowed on top of it, undisturbed.  This, finally, seemed to have caught Victoria’s attention, and she eyed it with a dose of fascination.

“What are all those people doing down there?” she asked, her voice showing some positive emotion for the first time in a few days. She studied the box curiously, eyes flying over all the details and features.

“They are walking _beneath_ the water, ma’am,” Drummond said proudly.

“Well,” she sounded impressed, and Alfred shot Drummond an approving look – it seemed his words finally had impact. Victoria continued; “I shall keep it,” she decided. “Nonetheless, I cannot attend.”

She got up and started putting her things away – Drummond directed a scared look to Peel, none of them used to this kind of behaviour from the Queen who was usually so eager to go to every event of even the slightest importance. Peel, however, only pinched his nose and took in a breath. He didn’t seem to want to press Victoria any further, so they all remained quiet while she took the box and left the room, bidding them goodbye and giving no reason as to why she couldn’t attend.

What finally did make her leave the Palace was a tragic accident in the Tower of London where many men had lost their lives or suffered great injuries. It took some talking into on Peel’s side (at least that’s what Drummond told Alfred), but in the end she gave in and went to visit the poor victims. It was a most distressing scene; men with gashes and burns so gruesome it almost physically hurt to see them, and Victoria was left greatly affected – so much she ended up leaving the hospital in tears. Alfred, himself, had not been there, but Drummond told him about the whole event as soon as they saw each other, which happened to be in the early evening of that same day. The way he spoke was calming and familiar, his voice making Alfred feel warm despite of the harrowing scenes he described.

After Drummond’s report, so to speak, Alfred managed to pursue him into having a drink to calm himself down from what he’d seen. He took him to a comfortable yet scarcely used room with a fireplace and they made themselves comfortable with some wine, sitting in pleasant silence for a while. Alfred was in no rush to get the conversation going; it came naturally to them, both the talks and the silences, and for once Drummond had time on his hands.

“Such a shame no one wanted to join us,” Alfred regarded after a while. It was a complete lie, of course; he intentionally chose the room so rarely used, and even the route they took was usually clear of potential add-ons to their party.

“Yes,” a secretive smile grew on Drummond’s face, and his eyebrows rose. “What _are_ we going to talk about?”

Alfred didn’t know how to respond to that. There were plenty things he wanted to talk about, but he didn’t know how to begin, and he found himself at a loss of words. Instead, they both took their respective glasses and took a sip, exes fixated on each other.

It was then, of course, that Wilhelmina entered with an “Oh!” sound, surprised to find the room occupied. Alfred stood up in greeting, Drummond following suit.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I think I left my volume of Chopin in here.”

She looked around the room curiously, and Alfred was relatively certain it was Prince – or rather, Duke – Ernest who gave her those notes. He came to say goodbye after his last visit, catching Wilhelmina and Alfred as they were playing the piano. Wilhelmina’s enchantment with Ernest was hard to miss, so Alfred swiftly excused himself and went to see if the mews had his carriage ready to leave them in private. Ernest had a volume of papers under his arm, and it wouldn’t surprise Alfred if they’d been a parting gift.

“No, Miss Coke, please, why don’t you… come and join us,” Alfred’s words came out breathy. He considered Wilhelmina a lovely girl and a dear friend, but it was hard not to show his disappointment. However, politeness was a must, so it seemed the potential possibilities that the evening held were to come to a quick end.

Drummond walked over to the cupboard to pour himself some more wine, and Alfred didn’t miss the same disappointed look plastered on his face. Exhaling, Alfred sat back down in his chair as Wilhelmina sat in Drummond’s.

“Any news from Cobourg?” she asked cheerfully.

“No,” was Alfred’s short, unbothered reply. Perhaps he would’ve felt guilty if he didn’t feel as if a unique opportunity was just snatched away from him.

“I wonder how Prince Ernest is finding his new life as the Duke,” she continued.

“Hopefully better than his father,” Alfred pointed, bringing his glass to his lips once again. His tone was disinterested, and he needed some more wine to calm himself.

“I suppose he will have to find a bride,” Wilhelmina regarded rather bitterly and yes, Alfred supposed he would. Although something told him Ernest was not to be easily persuaded to marry out of political convenience.

Alfred said nothing and instead glanced at Drummond, whose smiled seemed to have vanished completely, and Alfred felt he could relate. The atmosphere shifted drastically since Wilhelmina’s arrival, but he supposed there was no way to have the evening back now. The conversation carried on, strained and not very organic, and when the uncomfortable silences started to drag on, Drummond said he ought to be heading back. Alfred nodded in understanding and Wilhelmina wished him a safe trip before announcing she was tired and retreated as well. Alfred stayed for a while longer, but after another glass of wine and quite a bit of sad, unfocused staring into the fire, he realised he had nothing better to do than go bed too.


	4. Chapter 4

Alfred hurried along the steps of the Palace of Westminster for the meeting of the House of Commons. He wasn’t late – there were plenty of people walking in and out of the great entrance – but he liked to arrive early to have a chat with various other members, many of whom were his friends. The urgency in his self-assured steps, however, vanished as soon as his eyes fell upon Drummond, who seemed to have just walked out of the building.

“Drummond!” he greeted happily, thoroughly surprised. “I didn’t know you were a member.”

For once, Drummond didn’t look pleased. Quite the opposite; his face turned slightly pale, and his expression momentarily displayed something close to fear, his eyes taking in Alfred in a way they never had before. A cold wave passed through Alfred – the reaction was not something he would ever expect from Drummond, but the inexplicable unsettlement was gone as suddenly as it appeared. Or, perhaps it would be more accurate to say it was only covered up well; Alfred could see its traces behind a stony, seemingly emotionless façade Drummond was so quick to put on.

“I’m not,” said Drummond, something strange and unnameable in his voice. “I was meeting the Marquess of Lothian.”

Alfred was aware his face was failing him, his own unsettlement and worry starting to show. Although he sensed something was wrong, there was nothing he could deduce so, with some desperation, he asked; “Is he a friend of yours?”

“He’s going to be my father in law.”

Cold hit the bottom of Alfred stomach, and slowly started spreading through his insides, into his chest, and then his arms and legs. “You’re engaged,” he said dumbly, as if stating the obvious fact was going to have any impact.

When the initial coldness began to pull back, Alfred felt a whole variety of emotions he didn’t know where he would begin to describe. Most of all, he felt indescribably hurt, but also naïve and foolish for thinking he could ever find anything he longed for in Drummond, when it was now apparent there was never a chance.

“May I offer my- congratulations,” he managed to say when the ability to speak and form sentences returned, but he couldn’t bare a moment longer in Drummond’s presence without his body completely failing him. His expression was already a lost cause, but showing Drummond anything more was out of the question. “Excuse me,” he said without waiting for a reply and pushed past Drummond hurriedly, eyes nailed to the floor and breathing rapid.

He took his seat in the building without stopping to greet anyone, and was frustrated to see his hands were shaking. Embarrassed with his over the top physical reaction, he hid them in his coat and focused on his breathing. Drummond’s words echoed in his ears, repeating themselves again and again. He was to be married. It hadn’t occurred to Alfred, and he cursed himself for being so easily led on, cursed himself for giving in to hope so carelessly. He ought to have known, he ought to have thought, but he was so blind and naïve and now he was paying the price for letting himself fall, like some stupid child who thought life was a fairy tale.

The meeting began, but Alfred had a hard time paying attention as he was still trying to process Drummond’s words, his expression, the overall state of things. Afterwards, people approached him, talked to him, asked him this and that and he knew they all must’ve noticed he wasn’t quite himself. He brushed off those who asked him if anything was wrong, simply saying he’d been feeling under the weather and changing the topic quickly. He was nauseous and could hardly wait to go back to his room at the Palace – it was as if the gazes of all these people were burning his skin, and he needed to be alone for a little while. He saw the Marquess of Lothian, and felt inconceivable anger brewing in the pit of his stomach. He bitterly tried to remember who his daughter was, but to no avail.

Days dragged on, endless and monotone. Nothing was able to distract Alfred from his thoughts enough, the feeling of betrayal always present in the back of his mind. He simply couldn’t stop his thoughts from drifting back to Drummond, and it seemed the more he thought about the situation, the harder it was to deal with it. He spent months falling in love, months believing he wasn’t the only one. But reality proved to be crueler than he had thought. Seeing Drummond around became downright torture, his heart still beating faster, his palms still sweating and his throat still going dry. He needed to forget about him, that much he knew, but it was hard to let go of the feelings that were nourished until so recently.

He couldn’t avoid seeing Drummond all together, but he could bring their interactions down to a bare minimum – he was not obligated to speak to the Prime Minister’s secretary. All things considered, Alfred was still a person who cared for self-preservation, and even though his sudden coldness and distance from a man he considered a dear friend might have seemed strange to the few people who noticed, it was necessary. It was hardly likely Drummond didn’t notice what he was doing to Alfred – how he made him feel and how he’d been leading him on. So Alfred resorted to what was essentially ignoring him; if he passed him and Peel in the corridor, he’d only greet Peel; if they were at a meeting, he’d look at anything instead of Drummond; if Drummond addressed him specifically, he’d only offer the shortest, coldest reply he could think of.

***

The Queen was recovering. Day by day, she grew happier and soon she was back to her old, lively self. Alfred was glad to see her back on her feet, smiling and showing interest in everything.

In spite of her absence, the political globe kept turning, and a difficult situation with France arose. Alfred wasn’t all too interested in the question, but he knew it had to do with the Queen of Spain and her future husband, or more specifically whether it would be the French Prince or a Cobourg one. Of course, the French King wanted his son to marry her, thus strengthening his monarchy, but it would have great consequences for the relations between England and France; some said it could even cause another war.

Alfred hadn’t given the issue much thought – he was far too busy with his own troubles, most of which were centred on Drummond. That aside, the atmosphere of the court was still rather sour; Prince Albert seemed much more affected by his father’s death that Alfred expected. He got the impression Albert wasn’t too fond of the old Duke, but it appeared he was wrong. After his return from Cobourg, he was far less talkative and opinionated, and seemed rather distant and very much out of sorts. Alfred hadn’t lost his father, so he couldn’t really understand – his own was still very much alive, legless and grumbling as he always had been. He didn’t know how he’d react when his time finally came, but he imagined he wouldn’t be overly sad; his father was an old-fashioned man and their increasingly different political opinions didn’t leave Alfred keen on talking to him all too much. His family was large and they often got together, but Alfred preferred the company of his siblings to that of his parents. Although, to be fair, his father could surprise from time to time, and he was quite radical in some aspects, most notably in his attitude towards the Irish; he served as Lord Lieutenant of Ireland for a year, and was very vocal in his belief for catholic emancipation, perhaps the only political matter Alfred agreed with him on.

Nonetheless, the political tension between England and France grew, and it seemed certain the French Prince was to marry the Spanish Queen. Shortly after receiving the news, Victoria announced she and Albert were to go to France themselves to try and reason with King Louis Philippe, naturally followed by a relatively small party. It was to be consisted of the Duchess of Buccleuch, Miss Wilhelmina Coke, and Lord Alfred, as well as a couple of their closest servants. Saying it came as a relief to Alfred was an understatement. Primarily, he saw the trip as a getaway, because if there was the whole of La Manche and miles of land between him and Drummond, he could finally clear his mind and move on. Not being in his presence was crucial to pulling himself together, and he’d always wanted to visit France anyway.

But alas, Alfred’s relief was short-lived. Soon, it was announced Drummond was to join their party, as someone from the government had to be present, and Peel himself was far too busy. It sank all of Alfred’s ships as soon as they’d taken off, and he was once again left nauseous and almost dreading the trip. To be confined with Drummond for days on end, first in the carriages and the boat, and then in whichever castle or palace they were going to stay at, was disconcerting, and Alfred spent days wishing some unavoidable family crisis would emerge so he could be excused. But it didn’t, and not even the Duchess of Buccleuch was spared the journey, no matter how many days in advance she started spewing about the immorality and godlessness of the French.

 Despite Alfred’s personal wishes, the date arrived, and they took off. The carriage ride to the port was a short one; Alfred shared his with Wilhelmina, the Duchess and, of course, Drummond, but they didn’t speak much. Alfred greeted him only out of politeness, but spent the rest of the time firmly ignoring him. It was similar on the boat, where Alfred decided to distance himself from everyone to try and read instead. It didn’t, however, prove to be a very good idea, as the boat kept rocking and swinging in a most nausea-inducing manner.

They were royally welcomed upon their arrival to the French port, seemingly the entirety of the town coming to see them along with the King and his son. Louis Philippe courteously greeted Victoria, before (rather rudely) addressing Albert simply as “Cobourg” and exchanging a few ostensibly polite words with him. He then returned to Victoria and kissed her on both cheeks, much to the surprised of the English, Alfred included. He heard the Duchess of Buccleuch audibly disapprove, but he didn’t say anything himself. After the short first encounter, they climbed inside the carriages once again and began their journey to Chateau d’Eu.

Alfred sat next to Wilhelmina, with Drummond opposite of him next to the Duchess. Barely a few minutes passed before the old woman started complaining, but Alfred paid little mind and instead looked out his window into the lush green countryside of France.

“Kissed on both cheeks, as if she were a washerwoman!” he could hear her spitting out angrily.

“I believe it is the French way,” Drummond reasoned with her calmly, and then turned his gaze towards Alfred. “Isn’t that right, Lord Alfred?”

 Alfred’s eyes met his for a second. “I’ve no idea,” he said flatly, his tone so cold it promptly wiped the smile off Drummond’s face. Truth be told, he was a little taken aback by it himself, but he stood his ground and kept an emotionless expression.

Drummond went back to looking out the window with an expression so sad, Alfred couldn’t help but feel a little guilty in spite of himself. He wished he didn’t, but there was a sudden wave of coldness spreading through his body again, and he knew at that moment that he was far from moved on.

The Duchess didn’t stop talking, now addressing her niece. “To think I promised your mother I’d look after you, and here we are – in Sodom and Gomorrah. The country has no shame. Those court ladies…,” she went on and on about the painted faces and the overall lack of truthfulness and morals, and suddenly, Alfred wanted to take his cold tone and overall distance back.

Calling France Sodom and Gomorrah was perhaps taking it a bit too far, but as far as Alfred knew, the French law was much kinder to “sodomites” than England’s. At least here, there was no death penalty, not since the Revolution. The Duchess’s loud dislike practically forced a smirk onto Alfred’s face and, hoping it would make amends, or at least show Drummond he didn’t really mean it, his eyes found Drummond’s. His expression was as amused as Alfred’s, and taking into consideration the fact they were far from everything that tied them down – most specifically Drummond’s engagement – they could perhaps pretend it didn’t exist.

The trip was relatively short, and the Duchess took it as an opportunity to talk as much as she liked, Victoria not being present to cut her off. No one in their carriage really had the kind of authority to shut the old woman up, so they endured her endless nagging in silence. Alfred couldn’t say he agreed with her, having heard only the most splendid things of the French cuisine and overall beauty of the country. He liked to enjoy life, he liked to feel careless and light and not worry too much about such dull and honestly quite irrelevant principles. To Alfred, France was a country like any other, and if they painted their faces or kissed people on both cheeks, who was he to judge? He could think what he wanted of it, but discussions about the morality of it were not something he was interested in. Their politics and history were something entirely different, but Alfred didn’t think it was the “ungodly food” or “immoral face paint” that made the French revolt, nor was it the reason Napoleon fought the British.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you enjoyed! next update on sunday but after that i think ill go to updating once a week because theres just,,,, a lot going on in school right now and i wanna stay at least 2-3 chapters ahead bc if i dont the quality will drop significantly so im sorry but i rly want to like,, publish only what i think is the best i can do? i hope to return to the "twice a week" thing after things get a bit more chill at school, i hope you dont mind


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> france!! extra long because i couldn't really split it into two more or less equal parts and also because the next update isnt gonna be on thursday, but next sunday! hope you enjoy!!

Chateau d’Eu was lovely sight; the tasteful French castle looked like it came right out of a fairy tale, and Alfred half-expected fairies or elves to jump out of the bushes and flowers. Wilhelmina looked delighted, gasping at the sight, unlike her aunt who only grumbled and scowled, as was expected of her. Even Drummond, who tried to remain neutral about France as a country (as a true politician), couldn’t keep an impressed look off his face.

After being welcomed by the rest of the French court, they were shown to their rooms to get settled until the events of the late afternoon began. Alfred was tired from the journey, so he read a bit before dressing himself and making his way to the grand room where they were expected.

There was already quite a crowd, but Alfred didn’t spot many familiar faces except for Drummond and the Prince, so he approached them.

“Your Majesty, Drummond,” he greeted politely, catching Drummond’s eye for a second and sending him a brief smile. He came to understand they were a long way from home, and he could pretend none of it existed. Out of sight, out of mind, the proverb said. Drummond returned the smile.

“Lord Alfred,” Albert returned, but he seemed distracted looking at the members of the French court with a dose of wariness.

They stood in silence for a while, none of them quite sure as to what to say, as the room filled with more people chattering away lively. Finally, Albert spoke.

“Lord Alfred,” he addressed him again, quietly, “do you observe that all the ladies’ faces, they are painted?”

“Yes, I think you may be right,” Alfred returned. It was known, that the French ladies painted their faces, and Alfred had to listen to a whole monologue about it from the dear Duchess on their way to the chateau. There was indeed more colour in their cheeks and lips, even their eyes framed with dark lines, presumably to make them pop out more.

“The paint is surprising, no?” Albert persisted. Although he evidently shared the Duchess’s opinion, he seemed more uncomfortable at the prospect than anything else. Alfred understood, in a way, because if there was anything he’d learned about Prince Albert, it was that he cared deeply for truth and despised artificialness and dishonesty. Alfred couldn’t say he considered a bit of paint on someone’s face dishonestly, but it didn’t surprise him the Prince did.

“The French take a different view on these matters, sir,” Drummond explained, joining their conversation.

“Yes,” Alfred agreed. “I believe even the King might…,” he trailed off, raising his eyebrows and smirking a bit, thinking it could potentially relax the Prince. If anything, he looked even more uncomfortable.

Their conversation was interrupted when the Duke of Saxe-Cobourg was announced and Ernest casually walked in, greeting the French King before strolling over to them and embracing with Albert.

From there, the conversation livened up a little, Ernest always an entertaining presence. Alfred felt the rest of his tension from the trip dissolve, and he embraced the careless atmosphere, forgetting they were there on a diplomatic mission and not for their own pleasure. Soon, Ernest and Albert began talking between themselves, so Alfred and Drummond were left to each other. Neither of them mentioned the engagement, Alfred’s reaction nor the way he ignored him afterwards, and it was better that way. It was all left far behind, across the channel in old England, and they could talk and smile like they used to. Alfred felt that spark between them, as bright as ever, and he couldn’t have imagined it. No matter what Drummond thought of his marriage, it was undeniable he felt something for Alfred, and no amount of Marquess’ daughters could change that.

Not long had passed before King Louis joined them, offering his condolences to Albert and Ernest and speaking for a while about his own father, the importance of securing a future for his family, and the harshness of his old life, before he was crowned. The entire conversation was a tad unpleasant, a strange aggressiveness present in the King’s voice despite his perfectly calm tone and posture. He even told them his father passed down his mistress onto him – to finish his education, he said – and Alfred had to admit the idea was truly ridiculous. It was unheard of in England, and Alfred imagined it didn’t do much to ease Prince Albert’s growing distaste for the French. He could get on quite well with the Duchess, he thought, if they both put their difference aside; the Duchess, of course, wasn’t fond of Germans either.

Victoria made an appearance soon after, graciously walking in with Wilhelmina close behind her. All of the court’s eyes were on the Queen, and there was something different about her face. When she came closer, saying her hellos with the King and Ernest, it became apparent she’d painted it as well. Alfred himself thought she looked wonderful (and many else seemed to as well), but he snuck a quick glance at the Prince to see his reaction. His face was expressionless, but Alfred imagined it only worsened his already rapidly increasing discomfort and unsettlement.

After some more pleasantries, they moved to the dining hall for dinner. It was a large room with a long table in the middle, seating everyone of importance as servants paced around hurriedly, bringing dish after dish of the most wonderful-looking meals. Candles and flowers decorated the table, adding to the overall extravagance of the occasion. Alfred sat next to Wilhelmina, across from Drummond, and let himself be taken away by all the wonders in front of him. He tried everything that was offered to him, not sparing himself even from the most questionable servings, and he found that most of it was very much to his taste. After a number of some very disparate yet mostly magnificent main courses, it was time for dessert. Alfred was certain he couldn’t possibly eat any more, but when the servants placed a proper tower of treats in front of him, he had to reconsider.

“Look at that,” he said when the clapping died down a little. The tower certainly deserved a moment of admiration. “Such a shame the Duchess had to retire with a headache,” he added, eyeing his friends with a hint of amusement in his eyes and exchanging the tiniest smile with Drummond.

“I think she might consider it to be the devil’s work,” Wilhelmina joked.

“Well, I’m prepared to be led into temptation,” he said seriously, eyes calculatedly flying to Drummond for a split second before returning to his plate. “What about you, Drummond?”

Drummond looked taken aback. Alfred took note of the way his pulse quickened, but he did nothing to give it away. Even though his question was subtle, seemingly about the treat in front of them, it was till the most direct Alfred had ever been. Then, a telling smile spread across Drummond’s features, and he spoke up.

“I think to refuse such a creation might cause a diplomatic incident,” he said and slightly raised his eyebrows, his eyes not leaving Alfred.

Alfred felt unmistakable warmth reach his cheeks, so hid his face in his glass and took a sip. He smiled to himself and, without another word, went back to his plate. It was hard to concentrate on any new conversation that started up at their part of the table: Alfred’s thoughts were simply too persistent, his mind racing with explanations and a new hope. Fiancé or no fiancé, this exchange was proof to Alfred – proof that there is definitely something between them, something Alfred wasn’t inclined to call friendship. Almost as a test of his musings, he felt courageous enough to brush his leg against Drummond’s under the cloth-covered table, as if by accident. Drummond didn’t miss it, giving him a subtle, surprised look and then smiling down at his plate. He didn’t move his leg away, and Alfred’s heart felt full again.

They retreated to their rooms quickly after dinner, everyone far too tired to engage in any more conversation. Alfred’s own room was rather small but comfortable all the same, as well as heavily decorated like the rest of the chateau. The bed was covered in so many pillows Alfred imagined he couldn’t stay awake long enough to finish counting them, so he lied down and fell fast asleep. He dreamt of him and Drummond in the field again, and woke up strangely energetic.

***

In the morning, a servant came to notify Alfred there would be an event in the gardens – a small picnic of sorts, so Alfred got dressed and joined the party for an outside breakfast.

The nature was neat and well-kept, the tables filled with fruit and pastries and plenty other, splendid things. Alfred enjoyed himself a lot; he and Drummond spent the whole time side by side, admiring this and that, trying the fresh raspberries and soaking up the warm sun and fresh air. Everything looked delightful, and Alfred could really find no excuse to feel down anymore. He listened to Drummond’s soft voice, he laughed with him and, as always, made him smile as much as possible.

“Is that the Prince over there?” Drummond asked, and Alfred followed his gaze to Albert. He stood alone, and Alfred felt a tad sorry for him. He needed to relax a little; his principles and precise thinking prevented him from enjoying some simple pleasures.

“Yes, I believe it is,” Alfred agreed. “His spirits seem to be rather down on this fine morning. Perhaps we could leaven them,” he said, and they began walking towards him.

“Isn’t it charming, sir?” Alfred spoke when they came near, sighing in a bit of an overdramatic manner. “I know how much you like forests,” he added jokingly, hoping it would relieve some tension Albert carried on his face. He remembered when Albert and Ernest first came to England, and how the first time Alfred saw him relax was during their visit to Winsor, when they went riding in the woods.

“This is… hardly a forest, Lord Alfred,” Albert returned. He looked even more strained than the night before, if it was even possible. “It’s more akin to a… boudoir.”

The Prince’s gloominess, however, couldn’t bring Alfred’s spirits down. “Well, your French is improving, sir, I must say,” he said faux-seriously, raising an eyebrow before laughing. Albert didn’t share his amusement, nor did he loosen up. Since he was evidently not in the mood for small talk, Alfred led Drummond back to one of the tables where they sampled some more fruit.

“Oh, Drummond, I have to say I’m having the loveliest time,” he said after a while, the dreaminess of the morning far too strong to remain unsaid.

“Yes, it’s quite pleasant,” Drummond agreed.

“Have you been to France before?” he asked. Drummond seemed to be a bit distant and not quite as at ease as Alfred was, and he instantly felt himself wanting to help him loosen up; they weren’t in England anymore, and there was nothing in particular they could do about the political question that was the reason they were there, so why not just enjoy the moment?

“No, I haven’t,” said Drummond. “I’ve never left England before, actually.”

“Neither have I,” Alfred replied, and then thought for a bit. “Your family is Scottish though, is it not? Have you never been?”

“No,” Drummond shook his head, a somewhat regretful look in his eyes. “I’ve always wanted to go when I was younger, but we never had the time.”

“Perhaps you’ll visit it someday; you’re young, there’s plenty of time,” Alfred offered him a reassuring smile, and Drummond returned it. Alfred felt a slight rush in his body, a seemingly usual reaction to whenever Drummond smiled at him. He wanted to say it was one of those smiles; the small, special ones he only gave Alfred, but he couldn’t allow to get carried away again so soon. They might be in France, and they might still share something, but nonetheless hope was ill-advised.

“I’ve always wanted to visit France when I was younger,” Alfred spoke again, his tone light and friendly. He was eager to keep the conversation going, the silences making him twitchy. Before, when he thought he knew what was going on, it had been easier; the silences were as comfortable and telling as the conversations, but now he was unsure. “I’ve been learning French since I was a child. My father’s not too fond if it – he lost a leg at Waterloo – but my siblings and I were given a very broad education. France always seemed like a most peculiar country; the food, the customs, the countryside – like something out of a fairy tale.” He stopped for a second, took a sip of his wine, and added; “And I must say, I do think their law has improved since the Revolution.”

Drummond nodded along, smiling ever so slightly. His eyes seemed to pierce deep into Alfred, and he grew restless under his gaze. “I agree,” he said simply. “About the law, I mean,” he elaborated. “Some of our laws do seem quite… medieval.”

Alfred caught his eye for a second, his insides suddenly feeling cold. Surely, they were thinking of the same thing. “I couldn’t agree more.”

“But I can’t say I’m all too impressed with the rest,” Drummond said, changing the tone of the conversation back. “I’m inclined to agree with the Prince; I know all too much about French politics and the way they’ve been running their country for the last hundred years.”

Alfred nodded – he couldn’t argue with that. Kings were killed and republics proclaimed, only to bring back kings to be killed again. Louis Philippe was, after Napoleon’s Empire, the third king the country had had in just 30 years. And, if they were being honest, he was a nobody from some far branch of the Bourbon family tree elected by the people to prevent any more ultra-royalist kings like Charles X. He had no birth right to the throne, and he was there only to placate the revolutionary Parisians, which Alfred saw no problem with. He was a liberal, and therefore he, by default, believed in the parliament and limited power of the monarch.

“Nonetheless,” he spoke, not wishing to focus on politics on such a fine day, “the scenery is still wonderful, don’t you agree?”

Drummond raised his eyebrows and swept his eyes over their surroundings, before giving in and nodding, a small smile creeping on his lips. “I do,” he said in the end. “As you said – it’s like something out of a fairy tale.”

Alfred grinned. “Do you see that hill over there?” he asked suddenly and pointed in front of them, Drummond stepping closer and following his gaze. It was more like a very small mountain, Alfred thought, but he imagined his perception was mostly due to the tame and severely lacking in mountains landscape of England. It was illuminated by the faint yellow glow of the morning sun making it appear almost golden, with lush green trees and charming clearings. “I was just thinking how lovely it would be to have a cottage built on a hill just like that, only far away from civilisation. I don’t think I’d even want any servants; just some peace and quiet – some freedom.”

“It seems like a most idyllic life,” Drummond agreed. “But wouldn’t it be lonely? Surely you’d want someone to talk to now and then.”

Alfred looked at Drummond, their eyes locking. His heart felt like it was in his throat, but he was sure not to give it away. “Not if I brought someone I cared for to share it with,” he said.

Drummond hummed, and then smiled. “It sounds… liberating.”

Alfred took another sip of wine, finding he had to do something with his hands. They kept sharing these moments, and if the circumstances were different, Alfred was sure they would’ve kissed already. If the law was different, if social norms allowed it, if there was any way at all he could know for sure, and if mistakes wouldn’t result in imprisonment. Alfred liked to believe he would’ve done it.

“Lord Alfred,” the French Prince approached them, breaking the somewhat wistful silence between them. “I was wondering if I could speak to you. Do you care to take a walk through the gardens with me?”

“Not at all, your Highness,” he said and shot Drummond an apologetic look. He could hardly turn down the French Prince, which he was certain Drummond understood. He nodded politely, so Alfred followed Antoine through the cultivated shrubs and flowers of the summer vacation home, interested in what he wished to speak of. As it turned out, it was underwhelming; the Prince was only interested in how the House of Commons and House of Lords worked, and the relationship between the Parliament and the Queen. Alfred explained easily, but it was apparent Antoine deemed the current French system superior. He was an alright man, Alfred thought, but a bit stuck up and an evident patriot. He was in no mood to lead some sort of serious discussion, so he let the Prince believe what he wanted – there was no point, anyway. They walked through the beautiful, geometric gardens; everything, even the hedges, was cut to perfection. Alfred already started to direct their walk back to where he saw Drummond talking to Albert, but was interrupted when they stumbled upon the Duchess arguing with one of the servants. It was the first time Alfred had seen her since they arrived, and decided it would be quite rude to pass her by without as much as a hello. He didn’t long for her company or her tedious commentary, but manners came before all.

“Duchess,” he said cordially. She sat miserably at her table, furiously shaking her head to anything the servant offered her.

“Oh, Lord Alfred, thank goodness,” she sounded most relieved. “Will you tell the man that all I require is a dish of tea and some toast? None of this.... foreign food,” she said in what could only be described as honest disgust.

Alfred quickly eyed all the food before the Duchess; fresh fruit, cake, baguettes, pastries – all the finest delicacies the French had to offer. It was no surprise the Duchess wanted none of it. Regardless, Alfred turned to the servant and told him what the old lady wanted in fluent French, the man nodding and walking away quickly. The Duchess finally seemed somewhat at peace.

“My dear Duchess, I can assure you that the bread is fresh,” the Prince spoke then, clearly misunderstanding the situation. Alfred already opened his mouth to pacify; of course, the problem wasn’t the food itself – it was the fact that it was French. Naturally, he had to dress that up not to offend the Prince, but the Duchess beat him to it.

“But it’s such a peculiar shape,” she cried, raising a baguette as if to prove her point.

That left the Prince thoroughly confused so Alfred, in order to avoid further discussion and a potential patriotic argument, swiftly stepped in.

“Your Majesty,” he said, “why don’t we go and join Prince Albert? I imagine he has plenty to talk to you about.”

It wasn’t the best excuse, as Alfred doubted Albert had any particular desire to speak to the young man, but it was good enough to lead them away from the Duchess without any more conversation. Besides, he was eager to be in more familiar company, most notably Drummond’s.

Fortunately, Albert proved Alfred’s excuse was sensible after all. He addressed Antoine as soon as they arrived, his tone somewhat easier than before. Alfred didn’t pay much attention though, his eyes immediately drawn to Drummond and the way he smiled when their gazes met.

“I wondered if you could explain to me how the coppicing is managed,” Albert asked. His interest was genuine and something both Alfred and Drummond had grown used to, but the French Prince seemed surprised.

“Perhaps if we go for a walk, you can meet le charbonnier,” he provided. “He will tell you how often we cut the trees.” He sounded a tad offended; evidently, he did not think such a matter should concern a man of Albert’s position, but he didn’t know him. He was interested in everything from politics, the economy, and scientific development to the management of the Palace and the sewer system of London. Nothing was below him, and although it was so unusual to Alfred at first, he came to realise it was much better to have a Prince who cared for those things rather than someone who was too proud to even mention them. This way, good and necessary changes could be made.

If Albert noticed the Prince’s tone, he did not show it. He simply nodded and they set out, Alfred and Drummond following close behind. On the steps leading to the forest, they passed Prince Ernest and a pretty French lady looking quite dishevelled – Alfred couldn’t help but smirk to himself – and while she went back to the other ladies, Ernest asked; “Where are we going?” and hurried behind them.

They soon entered a proper forest – not a boudoir, as Albert had called it. The nature was wilder, but the path seemed well-walked upon, and Alfred rather enjoyed walking with Drummond and talking away idly. Albert was leading the way, finally in his element, the French Prince hurrying to catch up with him. Alfred and Drummond were in no such hurry, letting the royals talk between them while they followed behind. Finally, Ernest trailed behind them, his pace much slower and more casual. Alfred got a bit carried away, telling Drummond of a forest not unlike the one they were in where he and his siblings used to play when they were children. He listened patiently, smiling, nodding and laughing in all the right places, making Alfred’s heart just a tad giddier than it already was.

The two princes came to a sudden stop then, and Albert started taking his clothes off. Confused, Alfred could not hear what they were saying and, judging by his expression, Drummond couldn’t either.

“What are you doing?” he heard Antoine say when they drew closer. He stared at Albert in disbelief.

“I’m going to swim,” Albert said as if it was obvious.

“But it’s going to be cold and wet!” he objected, aghast. “It’s not civilised!” he spat out, not growing any fonder of the German.

Albert gave him a look. “Precisely,” he shot back and went back to undressing himself.

It was then that Alfred and Drummond’s eyes fell upon a small lake. It was charming, hidden from view until you stood right in front of it, small waterfalls seeping in and rich vegetation surrounding it. Drummond grinned widely, tearing his eyes off it and looking at Alfred instead. He, himself, was just as disbelieving as the French Prince was, but he imagined his surprise was much more pleasant. There was a question in his eyes when the found Drummond’s, eyebrows so high up they almost reached his hairline.

“Shall we?” Drummond then asked, reading his mind and making his heart skip a beat.

“I don’t see why not,” he returned, suddenly feeling a rush of boyish excitement. They laughed at each other, feeling like giddy, misbehaving children, and started taking their clothes off hurriedly as well.

Alfred took quick breaths to prepare himself for what was surely cold water, pulse so quick he felt like his veins were seconds away from bursting. Drummond gave him one final, fully blown, wild grin and they ran towards the lake, taking off the remaining bits of clothing and jumping in after Albert, yelling as they did so.

The water was freezing cold, but the trick was to keep moving. Alfred swam, not remembering the last time he felt quite so careless and free. They shouted like mad, letting themselves go completely and shedding their professional personas. Drummond dunked Alfred under the water, only to have him give him a taste of his own medicine, and they laughed uncontrollably, with no restraint whatsoever, until they were out of breath – and then they laughed some more. Albert was honestly smiling and laughing too, for the first time he had returned from Cobourg, and it was not long until Ernest jumped in as well, almost fully clothed, to join them in their immaturity and fun.

Despite the circumstances, Alfred had to remind himself not to be too close to or touch Drummond too much; they were still in the presence of Albert and Ernest, as well as Antoine, who was now sitting by the tree and smoking. He’d been right to judge him as too stuck up, he thought.

They swam until their lips were blue, and then dried off in the sun before dressing themselves again. It was the most fun Alfred had had in years, he realised, but a part of him couldn’t stop itself from wishing he and Drummond had been alone.

 

***

That evening, Victoria and Albert sat with Louis Philippe to finally discuss what was to be done about the Queen of Spain. There were no other activities planned for the day, so Alfred resorted to wandering about their residence, again visiting the gardens he spent almost the entire morning admiring. They were almost as enchanting in the evening, the mist making them look rather gloomy and mysterious. He smoked languidly, half hoping he would run into Drummond somewhere and half hoping he wouldn’t. As much as Alfred kept wishing for a moment or two of privacy for the two of them, the thought started to scare him again. He wanted a more vocal acknowledgement of what was happening between them, and, most of all, he wanted an explanation of that sudden engagement. They’d never talked about it after that day, and although Alfred felt comfortable enough to pretend it didn’t exist here, the reality of England was upon them. He was to be married, and that was all that Alfred knew. He didn’t know if Drummond wanted it, but he dared to think he hadn’t been wrong before. No, he was relatively certain Drummond had some sort of feelings for him, but there was no way of knowing exactly what they were and how far they went. Perhaps he was comfortable with their relationship as it was; all silent looks and smiles, but never anything concrete or tangible. Alfred didn’t know if he could go on like that for much longer.

In the end, he didn’t come across anybody on his walk, and returned to bed with an odd, uncertain feeling he hoped would vanish in the morning.

 

***

“I miss France,” Wilhelmina regarded sadly in the carriage on their way back home. Alfred said nothing, although he couldn’t help but agree.

The Duchess shot Wilhelmina a disappointed look Alfred received quite a few times from his father. “I don’t,” she then said sternly, to no one’s surprise.

“Did you not enjoy it at all, aunt?” she asked. “You have to admit the French court was extremely elegant,” she added, smiling charmingly to try and break her aunt’s perpetual, very much vocal distaste for anything French.

“Elegance is all very well but… my brother Mungo was killed at Trafalgar,” the old woman drifted off, and for the first time she seemed more sad than frustrated. After a short pause, she added with her usual bite; “They may do things with style, Wilhelmina, but I do not like the French. At heart they are not… respectable!”

“What about you, Drummond, what do you think?” Alfred spoke for the first time, his gaze not leaving the window. This time, they sat next to each other, the sides of their legs pressed together in the narrow carriage. Neither of them was looking at the other, but Alfred still felt reassured, if not completely content. He expected Drummond understood what he’d meant from his tone of voice.

“I agree with the Duchess,” Drummond said after a few moments, sounding very serious, although Alfred could hear that secretive note in his voice. “The trip was stylish but… not altogether too respectable,” he concluded.

Alfred remembered their little adventure at the lake and, with all his might, fought a smile off his face. Indeed, it was not respectable in the slightest, he thought as he continued staring at the passing countryside.

The conversation between the four of them carried on; they spoke of the food, the nature, the way the court looked and behaved, and how successful they were in their goal. Alfred wasn’t paying all too much attention, his thoughts often drifting off to the endless talks he and Drummond had, and how soft his skin felt under his fingers when they swam.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> family dinner, anyone?  
> also to be clear i dont agree with anything alfreds father says in this chapter i mean i think it goes w/o saying but still.  
> hope you enjoy!

“Oh, Alfred, you must tell us all about your trip to France,” Adelaide’s voice rang above the pleasant chatter of the Paget dining room.

“Yes, we’re all very interested to hear what you made of it,” Septimus agreed, exchanging a quick glance with Emily, who only frowned and looked down to her plate.

Compared to the size of the entire Paget family, the dining room was rather empty, as only five of Alfred’s siblings were available to attend. Alfred preferred it that way, finding it exhausting to try and talk to everyone when they were all there. Five at a time was quite enough, Alfred thought.

Emily was his eldest sister; she was a rigid woman, stiff to the bone, and very cold. Alfred was never fond of her much. While they were growing up, she was tasked with looking after her siblings, and she never quite grew out of patronizing the rest of them, save for Clearance who was only a year younger. He, on the other hand, was a lot more reckless than she was, although his main strength lied in words. He was smart, Alfred supposed, but had a bit of a mean-spirited touch, and was always the teasing sort. Then there was Mary, who was four years Alfred’s senior, and was never anything but quiet, sensitive, and delicate. If he had to guess, he would say she was their parents’ favourite. His only younger siblings were Adelaide and Septimus. Adelaide was perhaps the loudest member of their family – she was a fairly independent, opinionated young woman who, like Alfred, enjoyed to enjoy life and its simple pleasures. She was very passionate and intuitive, if a bit careless at times. Septimus was the youngest child, although Alfred could not spot the traits usually found in youngest children. He was very kind and understanding, as well as intuitive. Out of all his siblings, Septimus was his favourite, closely followed by Adelaide.

“It was wonderful, actually,” Alfred began, putting down his fork and taking a sip of wine. “The court was most elegant – and very agreeable, too. I’m so sorry you couldn’t have been there, Addie, you would have adored the gardens of Chateau d’Eu. Even Mr Drummond agreed they looked most splendid, and he was trying so very hard to remain neutral on everything about the country,” he laughed fondly. He was so stiff in the beginning, he remembered, until he let himself go once they stumbled upon the lake. He was beautiful then, completely stripped off all his political mannerism, but that was a story Alfred could not share with his family. “But I’m afraid not even he could resist the delicacies the French had to offer; I dare think he was even more impressed with the cuisine that I was, although I hardly think he would ever admit it.”

“He sounds like a very interesting gentleman,” said Emily, her voice flat and lacking in emotion. Almost everything she said sounded artificial and rehearsed, which was one of the reasons why Alfred wasn’t keen on her. Talking to her felt like talking to a shoe, although he supposed most shoes made better conversation partners.

“He must be!” Adelaide piped in, agreeing with Emily for once. Her voice was much livelier and more enthusiastic. “He comes up at least three times in each letter you write to me,” she laughed, and Alfred felt his stomach twist suddenly. “I almost hear more about what he thinks than I do about you! It’s entertaining, really, how much you value his opinion on simply everything.”

“Now, that’s not true, Addie,” he said hurriedly, his voice slightly desperate and throat dry. “You’re exaggerating, as always. I mentioned him once or twice, but never to such extent.”

“Who is this Mr Drummond? I can’t say I know the name,” Papa interrupted, frowning slightly.

“He’s Sir Robert’s private secretary,” Alfred quickly provided, eager to trivialize his relationship with the man in front of his family. It was likely he’d perhaps mentioned him a few times too many in the letters he’d written to Adelaide, but she did have a tendency to exaggerate. “He’s a friend of mine, but hardly anyone whose family you might know of. I believe his father is a banker of some sorts.”

“So you and this Mr Drummond went gallivanting around France together?” Papa huffed, and a cold sweat broke out on Alfred’s skin. “I didn’t lose my leg fighting them in the war so you and some banker’s son could go chasing after French ladies,” he spat out, and Alfred would be lying if he said he didn’t feel a bit relieved.

“Their policies have changed a lot since Napoleon’s time, Papa,” Septimus said calmly, but it did little to ease their father’s displeasure.

“Besides, we were there on political business,” Alfred added.

“You were there on political business,” the old man snickered mockingly. “I’m sure the Queen and Prince were, but I doubt anything you did there was political, Alfred. Pray tell, have you even spoken to the King at all? If one can even call him a proper king, that is – an elected puppet, that’s what I say. No, I think you spent most of your time in the company of those pretty French ladies. I’d bet my healthy leg on it!” he laughed.

“Oh, Papa, must you be so crude?” Mary spoke for the first time, gentle but nonetheless firm in her pleading. “I’m sure that wasn’t all Alfred’s gotten up to, and I’d very much like to hear the rest.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Clearance smirked. “I have to agree with you on this one, Papa – Alfred certainly looks like the gallivanting sort, and I’m sure the French ladies were more than happy to help.”

“I do wish we didn’t have to talk like this during dinner,” Mary said quietly, but her words didn’t seem to have impact on anyone other than Alfred, who couldn’t help but agree. While he supposed his family’s implications of him having such relations with women worked to his benefit in the long run, he was at a loss as to how he should act during such a discussion. It was out of his area and although his lying could be quite convincing if he tried hard enough, he was afraid that, at the moment, his face was all too telling and displayed his discomfort without much reservation.

“I agree, Mary,” Septimus nodded. “I think what Alfred did with those French ladies is his own, private business and we shouldn’t pry, especially not during dinner,” he said and the rest of the family hummed in agreement. Alfred shot his brother a thankful look, and Septimus returned a small smile and a wink to go with it. Alfred doubted he knew the reasoning behind his discomfort – he probably thought he’d been gallivanting with them too – but he was more than grateful he led the prying wolves away.

“Speaking of ladies,” Emily began, and Alfred thought he was perhaps too quick to assume the wolves retreated completely. “When are you going to get married, Alfred? Don’t you think it’s time? I’m sure there are plenty of suitable young women who would be interested.”

“I haven’t given it much thought, to be honest,” Alfred spoke carefully. “But I don’t think I shall want to marry for some time yet.” The turn the conversation took was even more uncomfortable, and Alfred set his mind to ending it as soon as he could.

“Nonsense,” Emily waved him off. “Your time to marry is now, the sooner the better. When I was your age, I was already married for two years, and was with my second child. You need to find yourself a wife,” she concluded firmly.

“What was the name of that lady you mentioned in your letters?” Adelaide suddenly spoke. “Miss Coke, was it? I have to say, she sounds most charming!”

“What, he should marry her and have the Duchess of Buccleuch breathe down his neck for the next ten years?” Clearance laughed.

“The Duchess is a very respectable woman, Clearance!” Papa scolded. “I’m sure her niece would make him a fine wide indeed.”

“I believe Miss Coke has eyes for someone else already,” Alfred said, careful his voice conveyed a trace of regret, although he felt none of it.

“Nonsense!” this time it was Papa who waved him off. “By God, Alfred, as if that matters,” he laughed. “Changing a woman’s mind is the simplest thing in the world, especially when it comes to the matters of the heart. They’re so quick to fall in love, and even quicker to redirect their affections, if one knows how to approach.”

Adelaide rolled her eyes, earning a hard glare from Emily and a small chuckle from Clearance.

“Miss Coke is a dear friend, Papa,” Alfred then said, the thought of marrying Wilhelmina unsettling him to say the least. She was far too lovely to marry someone who could never love her back the same way, and he respected her far too much to pretend he did. “I see her more as a sister than anything else.”

“Oh, but surely there’s someone,” Adelaide insisted. Alfred wished she would stop, sending her a pleading look. It was of no avail, as it seemed she either ignored it or missed it completely, although it was likelier the former was the case. “You’re always so secretive about these things!”

Alfred found himself at a complete loss as to what to say. Impulsively, he wanted to snap back it was because there was simply nothing to tell, but even if it could potentially bring a swift end to the discussion, he was afraid it would do little for him in the long run.

“I think,” Clearance spoke before Alfred could think of anything to say, “that you’re absolutely right, Addie. Surely there _is_ someone, but there must be a ‘but’ – a reason of some sort that complicates things so they have to be kept secret,” he pointed, studying Alfred’s face as if he could read him like an open book. Alfred felt his palms start to sweat, the silence excruciating, and he shifted restlessly in his chair. After a few moments, Clearance grinned and said; “Come now, we’ve got you figured out! What is it? Is she married? A servant, perhaps?”

Alfred exhaled in relief. “No, no, nothing of the sort,” he said and noticed his father’s disapproving expression soften. He decided to turn Clearance’s words to his benefit. “It’s just… uncertain,” he said. “I assure you she’s suitable, I’m just not yet sure if she shares my feelings.”

Other than Emily’s deep frown and Papa’s loud laughter, the family now seemed endeared, even sympathetic.

“Oh, you romantic,” Mary smiled fondly. “She’d be a fool not to.”

“Well, you simply must give us a name now,” Adelaide insisted. “Who is this mysterious woman that has you so dazed? Is she very pretty?”

Alfred smiled forcefully, hoping his sister couldn’t see through it. “I’d rather not say, at least not until it all becomes clearer,” he said. “But yes, she’s very pretty, as well as clever.” It was the vaguest description he could possibly give, as most men seemed to think it of the women they fancied.

“All you young people ever thing about is love and amusement,” Papa laughed, but it was not mean-spirited for once. On the contrary, he even had a nostalgic look in his eye, perhaps reminiscing his own youth. Alfred glanced at Septimus, and they both smiled at their father’s uncharacteristic emotional display.

Thankfully, from there on the conversation moved on to Septimus’ advancing army career, and Alfred relaxed once more, enjoying the pleasant atmosphere the room regained. He liked spending time with his family, and thought it was a shame they were all too busy to get together more often. If there was one thing he could credit his father for, it was his ability to organise these dinners for them to stay close. The Paget family was a pack, he oft said, and they had to stay together and care for each other, else it would fall apart; strength was in numbers, and if everyone worked together, there was hardly anything that couldn’t be achieved.

He ended up staying the night; it was late, so there was no point in returning to the Palace, and his own London house was much too far to bother going to when he was to return to his post the next day. Aside from him, Septimus and Adelaide stayed as well, as neither of them were married yet and had no one waiting for their return. Soon after everyone else had left, Papa excused himself to go sleep, blaming his old age, and left his youngest children in the sitting room.

“I didn’t know Emily could possibly get any more uptight,” Adelaide regarded after a while, her voice laced with genuine frustration beneath the light tone. “I dare say she’d make a better general than you, Septimus!”

Both her brothers laughed. Emily was a lot sterner than dear Septimus, Alfred thought, and he could very well imagine her dressed in a uniform, ordering a battalion of young men about – it would certainly suit her, and she wasn’t far from it already.

“Yes, I’m sure they’d kick me right out of the army if they ever met her,” he laughed. After a few moments, he became more serious; “But she does have a point, Alfred,” he added. “You shouldn’t waste much time with that lady of yours.”

“Are you certain you can’t give us her name?” Adelaide pleaded again. “It’s only the two of us, and I swear we won’t tell a soul! Will we, Septimus?” He hummed in agreement, so she added; “I’d very much like to know who she is.”

“I’m afraid not,” Alfred shook his head. “I’d rather not talk about it, really,” he said. He was far too tired to make up details about the imaginary woman, even less the ones neutral enough they couldn’t be traced to any real person.

“Fine, if you say so,” she huffed, clearly displeased. “But you must write to me as soon as you’re certain enough! I want to be the first to know.”

“You can take my word for it, Addie,” he assured her, and started thinking of when and how his imaginary relationship was going to come to its tragic end. Perhaps the lady in question would fall in love with another, or she would unexpectedly move far away. Or, perhaps, her parents would arrange her to marry someone else, and she could not possibly refuse.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> early update because i wont be home tomorrow!  
> this is a bit of a boring chapter tbh it was p difficult to write idk im a bit :/ abt it but!! scotland's coming up in the next chapter so that should be good and fun!  
> thank you for commenting and giving me kudos youre all so kind! i love hearing your thoughts so dont hesitate to comment i reply to them all

_Dear Alfred,_

_I’m sorry if I’d irritated you at dinner last week – it was not my intention. However, I am concerned for your well-being and must again advise you to marry as soon as possible. I know we’ve never been very close, but I do care about you, despite what you think. After all, you are my younger brother and I only want what is best for you. I’m sure this Mr Drummond you speak so highly and frequently of is most congenial, but what you need is a wife._

_Please, waste no time in finding a bride. I do not wish to meddle into your life, but if you do not care to take my advice to heart, people will start to talk, and it will have consequences the gravity of which I’m not quite sure you fully comprehend. Perhaps it is your youth that makes you so reckless, but I urge you to try and look at the situation from a more rational, mature point of view._

_Much love,  
your sister Emily._

 

Alfred read the letter in his hand for what was likely the hundredth time since he’d received it. It worried him, to say the least, and an unsettling feeling climbed up his spine. Emily managed to somehow convey her cold, mechanical tone through the written word, but Alfred paid it little mind and instead focused on the text, or rather the subtext. It was clear she speculated her brother’s affections lied with Drummond rather than some unknown woman, and if there was anything Alfred wanted, it was for that speculation to leave her mind. He could rest assured she wouldn’t share her suspicions with anyone, at least; she had no proof and besides, the family’s reputation would then be at stake, which was what Emily truly cared about. Still, the fact she was able to draw the correct conclusion made Alfred more than uneasy.

He wondered if he should write back to her to try and dispel her of any suspicion, but in the end decided against it. Although there was nothing incriminating about the contents of the letter, he tossed it into the fireplace, primarily because he wanted to stop himself from reading it over too many times.

In an attempt to forget about it, Alfred dedicated himself to his duties. The Palace had hardly changed in their absence, but he found he had a harder time slipping back into the rhythm of things than he thought he would. Naturally, it was expected things between him and Drummond could not be as they were in France; they both had their careers and duties which prevented them from seeing each other all too much. In France, he was reassured he hadn’t imagined it all before – Drummond did, in fact, feel something, even if Alfred couldn’t possibly know the extent of it. With that in mind, the natural conclusion was that nothing really had to change; it was not as though Alfred could marry Drummond himself, s what obstacle did the fiancé present? None, in Alfred’s mind, and even more so because there was never anything concrete between them. They were free to continue exchanging glances, smiles, and ambiguous conversations, even if it was not quite what Alfred wanted and not quite what his fiancé deserved. But it was better than nothing at all, and Alfred would gladly take anything that was given to him.

However, it seemed he was wrong. Months went by without Alfred as much as seeing Drummond for longer than a few minutes in passing, and their conversations were so brief and fleeting it wasn’t right to even call them proper conversations. Every short exchange was so confusing and difficult to interpret, Alfred hardly knew what to think. One second, it felt as though everything was alright, and the next it was as if they were strangers. It was nerve-wrecking and, for the billionth time, Alfred wished he could just get inside the man’s head and see what he was thinking.

On top of his personal troubles, dreadful rumours about a famine in Ireland started to spread. At first, nothing seemed out of the ordinary; some failed crops, a bad season – nothing unheard of. But soon it became apparent the problem was much greater. Most of Ireland depended solely on potatoes, so when a previously unseen disease began to spread, it soon swept over every single farm and every single field on the island. The rumours became much more and heated debates on what was to be done seemed to be the only topic of conversation in political spheres.

Very few people Alfred spoke to were sympathetic of their countrymen. In his liberal circles, there was a vague consensus sending help was a necessity, but no one was very keen on the Irish as they were, after all, Catholics, even if Alfred could see no correlation between the two. Victoria, on the other hand, was most distraught by the news, in particular by a letter from a protestant priest published in the Times. She went as far as inviting him to the Palace to hear what had been happening from first hand, much to the dismay of her many consultants. But she wanted to help, which was a noble change from a lot of the more conservative opinions Alfred had heard. Of course, sending help wasn’t going to resolve the matter in the long run – people didn’t need bread for just one day, but for the entire year. This was where the Corn Laws came in; their function was to regulate wheat prices, ensuring domestic wheat wouldn’t be threatened by its imported equivalent. It reality, they protected no one but the landowners who profited off it, so when the question of their repeal was brought in, it aggravated many, the loudest of whom were, of course, the Tories. Alfred’s father, naturally, agreed; he was a rich landowner himself and even though he was of the opinion the Irish needed to be fed, he did not go as far as supporting the repeal, which was understandable. Still, Alfred found himself agreeing with the Queen. Peel, it seemed, did not. He was a Tory himself, and if he were to promote it, his leadership of the party would be vastly threatened, and it would inevitably divide itself into two. It was a complicated matter, and before long, it was all that was spoken about in the Palace as well as the Parliament.

 

***

It felt like ages passed before Alfred got saw Drummond alone again. They ran into each other on the hallway before the main entrance of the Palace, Alfred on his way in and Drummond on his way out. He hadn’t expected him, and had to stop and slow down at the sight, warmth spreading through his body so demandingly there was no point in even trying to supress the smile growing on his face.

“Drummond,” he greeted in surprise, and hurried to approach him. He hoped Drummond had time for a proper conversation, perhaps even enough to spare an hour or two for a drink. “I didn’t- I didn’t know you were at the Palace.”

“I had some papers for the Queen from the Prime Minister,” he said, tone impersonal and professional. Alfred couldn’t remember the last time Drummond spoke to him in that tone in private, but it must’ve been a few years.

He opened his mouth, but could think of nothing to say. He kept hoping for an opportunity for them to be alone, but this was not how he imagined it. They stood in a somewhat awkward silence for a while – something that hadn’t happened before – and Alfred desperately tried to think of something he could say that could start a conversation between them.

“I should go, there’s a debate on the Irish Question,” Drummond finally said and Alfred leapt at the chance.

“Yes, the Queen talks about nothing else,” he said eagerly, determined not to let him go so soon. Surely, the debate could wait a few minutes.

Truthfully, Drummond looked a bit on edge. He pursed his lips and exhaled through his nose audibly, before quickly leaning in. “The Prime Minister is doing what he can,” he said sternly, and Alfred frowned in confusion. His comment was not an implication of any sort, but it seemed Drummond had taken it that way. “He can’t alter his policy just because the Queen’s read some letter in the Times.”

“The Irish are starving,” Alfred reminded him just as sternly, stressing his words and leaning in for more impact.

The way Drummond spoke was dismissive, deliberately downplaying the severity of what was going on, and Alfred could hardly believe he was hearing it. Drummond was a politician, he knew – a Tory no less – but he expected him to be more… sympathetic.

“Then the Queen should reach into her own purse!” Drummond almost exclaimed in his whispering. “Women are so _damn_ emotional!”

And then Alfred realized what this was about. He stopped for a moment before looking up to meet Drummond’s eyes. “Women like your fiancé?” he then asked defiantly, tone cold and serious, but his voice still wavered a bit. They were standing close, but Alfred could feel none of the usual warmth that came with it. Instead, his insides felt cold and hurt.

Drummond closed his eyes. “She’s insisting on setting the date right in the middle of the session,” he said, not picking up on the pain written across Alfred’s features, and instead sounding like he’s sharing an outrageous thing he’d heard a political opponent say, like he expected Alfred to _sympathise,_ to shake his head and say how very unreasonable she was being. Alfred could not.

He didn’t break eye contact, now feeling angry as well as hurt, and instead of offering Drummond a reply he clearly expected, he raised his eyebrows and chin in defiance. He made no attempt to cover up the hurt sweeping over his face, displaying it as if he was trying to prove a point.

Then, Drummond seemed to have finally caught on. “Sorry,” he sounded like he truly meant it, face falling and eyes quickly cast down to the floor. “You don’t want to hear about that, do you?” he asked when he looked up again, the slightest hint of an ashamed smile on his lips, like he finally realized what he was doing and what he was asking of Alfred.

It was Alfred’s turn to look down then, and he even opened his mouth to form some sort of a reply but, again, he could not find the words. It dawned on him too, at that moment, that it was hardly proper to act that way about a friend’s engagement – and they were only friends, after all - it was hardly proper of _him_ to ask of Drummond to let things be how they were before, when he was evidently under so much stress both with the delicate political situation and the planning of his wedding.

“And I must go to the debate.” Alfred looked up when Drummond spoke again. His eyes were still full of hurt, but he did not know what he should say to apologize for his behaviour, which was most inappropriate. “Goodbye, Alfred,” Drummond said sternly, with finality, and began walking out of the Palace, certainty in his steps.

Alfred couldn’t help but turn around and watch him leave, almost feeling like it was the last time he would ever see him – that was how final that goodbye sounded. He cursed himself for his lack of response; he considered himself to be a man of eloquence and wit, but today he proved himself to be nothing more than a dumbstruck boy. In the end – regretful, hurt, and irritated primarily at himself – he turned back around and went on with his business; endless finances awaited him.

 

***

Alfred was tired. Too many things were happening all at once, and he found nothing could truly relax him anymore. It felt as though there was a dark, thick fog surrounding everything he did; his duties were duller, the conversations more strained, laughs emptier, and smiles more forced. Drummond returned to the Palace from time to time, but Alfred gave him space, as it was apparent he was not quite himself. He imagined he was tired too, what with the constant debates and his fiancé and the planning of their wedding and everything that came with it. Alfred tried to understand, he truly and honestly did. He managed to convince himself, perhaps too hopefully, that Drummond’s behaviour that day hadn’t had anything to do with Alfred, and instead was a result of all the pressure he must be under, as he made no indication he thought Alfred’s words to be improper, even if they were. Still, Alfred made no attempt to speak to him again, not until both the political and personal events blew over.

However, it seemed that it would take a while, perhaps longer than Alfred had expected; the Queen was shot at yet again, and although Alfred managed to spot and arrest the shooter when they went out once again to lure him, measures had to be taken to ensure Victoria’s safety. And so the Palace began looking more like a prison; guards seemed to have quadrupled, and they were a step behind the Queen at all times. It would take a fool not to notice how this had annoyed her, even if she didn’t vocally address how suffocating it was so often. Indeed, everyone and everything was on edge, and Alfred longed for some kind of change; something drastic, anything to blow the bubble of pressure they were all trapped in.

An ideal solution came only half-unexpectedly. Alfred had hoped the Queen had some sort of plan, so to speak, when she summoned the entirety of the court with an addition of Peel and Drummond for an announcement. They’d been waiting in the large, heavily decorated room often used for bigger formal events for a while when the Queen and Prince finally walked in, their steps decisive and quick.

“Sir Robert,” Victoria greeted the Prime Minister first as the entire room stood up and bowed.

“Ma’am,” he returned politely, but she’d already turned to address the rest.

“Since I cannot bear to live in a military garrison here in London,” she began without any ado, “I have decided to go somewhere else.”

Her words felt like a breath of fresh air. Alfred had very much enjoyed their trip to France, and some time away from all the tension of London would surely do him good, wherever it was – it didn’t matter in the slightest, he thought.

“Are we travelling to the continent, ma’am?” the Duchess of Buccleuch inquired politely, but Victoria shook her head.

“No,” she said, excitement evident in both her voice and posture.

The Duchess’ face fell. “Not… Ireland?” she asked darkly and despite his efforts, Alfred rolled his eyes subtly – or, at least less obviously than his sister Adelaide often did.

“No, Duchess,” Victoria said again. “We are going somewhere that even you might approve of.” After a few moments of silence, Victoria grinned and announced; “Scotland.”

 Before any reactions could take place, Peel cleared his throat and stepped out. “You will return in time to open Parliament, ma’am?” he asked.

“I’m well aware of my duties, Prime Minister,” Victoria said, which was enough for Peel so he nodded, content.

“I’m so looking forward to hearing the celebrated bagpipes!” Baroness Lehzen exclaimed excitedly, but it seemed the royal couple had different plans for her.

“Surely you do not intend to leave your post, Baroness?” Albert asked in a forcibly polite, rather cold tone. It was no secret the Prince was not overly fond of Victoria’s old nursemaid, and deemed them far too close for his liking. Lehzen’s face fell at once, and she swiftly turned to Victoria for guidance.

Victoria’s smile grew smaller. “Maybe next time, Lehzen,” she said apologetically. “When the children are a little bigger.”

“As you wish, Majesty,” the Baroness replied hastily, eyes now nailed to the floor, and she stepped back.

Peel then wished the Queen a safe trip, and once again suggested that she brought Drummond. Alfred hadn’t expected that, as there was nothing at all political about the visit; it was more of a vacation. Nevertheless, he did not mind – Drummond told him in France he’d always wanted to visit Scotland, and surely the fresh air of the highlands and lack of duties would relax him as well. Indeed, he looked less tense already, and Alfred dared to catch his eye for a second and send him a small smile. Drummond returned it, and Alfred felt a spark of hope once again. Perhaps they could fall into the dynamic they had in France, even if only for the little while. The fog that had suffocated Alfred for so long finally seemed to have lifted off a bit, and he could breathe more clearly.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hm it would appear that i am not dead after all  
> uhhh sorry for the long wait i dont really have a good excuse apart from being busy and dealing w some personal shit + i was Incredibly Annoyed w how they handled alfred in the christmas special i have a lot of Very Negative Thoughts abt that but what can you do
> 
> anyway! if anyone is still reading this welcome back and here is the first chapter of the trip to scotland! im sorry! i hope you enjoy and leave a comment if literally anyone is still interested in this hahahhh

The organisation and preparations for the trip went smoothly. The same party what went to France would be accompanying Victoria to Scotland, with the addition of Harriet Sutherland. It was a most tragic story, really; her husband fell and broke his neck in a hunting accident, dying immediately. Alfred didn’t know the Duke of Sutherland very well, but Harriet had been a dear friend ever since they were children, and he felt immensely sorry for her loss. He could hardly recognise her when she appeared at the Palace in her widowing black clothes, face so uncharacteristically pale and sunken down one wouldn’t believe it used to smile and laugh so brightly. For as long as Alfred remembered, she was a wonderfully witty, intelligent and good-natured young woman who radiated positivity. Now, however, she was merely a ghost of the person Alfred had grown up with; quiet, grieving, distant, and seemingly lost in her thoughts. It was truly disconcerting.

The trip itself was a long one, lasting several days of being cramped into a small carriage with very limited time in which one could stretch their legs. For all of Alfred’s eagerness to get away from London, he found he could not relax until he was out of that carriage for good. The road was bumpy, and Alfred spent most of his time gazing out the window as the scenery changed and became wilder, or reading. He’d brought the Iliad with him on pure impulse, unsure quite as to why, but still it found itself in his luggage. He was once again immersed into its vast yet tragic world, passing the time until they finally arrived. His tension during the trip was, in part, to do with the fact he once again shared the small space with Drummond, who sat opposite of him. Wilhelmina was on Alfred’s right, but opposite of her, instead of her dreary old aunt, was Prince Ernest. Alfred had to admit he was grateful for that, as Ernest was far more pleasant company than the Duchess. Although, he had to admit, she would probably be more tolerable now that they travelled someplace she didn’t deem sinful and godless.

“I must congratulate you on your engagement, Mr Drummond,” Wilhelmina broke the silence that fell upon them, speaking sincerely.

Daring not to turn away from the window, Alfred’s eyes shot in Drummond’s direction, where he found his expression uncomfortable and apologetic.

“Florence and I are old friends,” Wilhelmina continued. “She’s such a lovely girl, and so accomplished!”

Alfred averted his eyes back to the window, mind racing. He couldn’t help but feel pleased; Drummond expression was telling, and certainly not of a man thrilled to be married. And the fact his eyes searched Alfred’s so apologetically spoke for itself, he allowed himself to think hopefully.

“She has many virtues,” Drummond said politely, and then looked right back at Alfred.

“My felicitations,” Prince Ernest chimed in. “I hope that she is as pretty as she is talented.”

Curious to see the reaction, Alfred fixed his eyes on Drummond again.

“I believe she is considered quite, erm,” Drummond paused, searching for a word, “personable.”

When Drummond’s eyes unmistakably found Alfred’s, he met him with a slight quirk of his eyebrow. It was challenging, perhaps a bit smug as well, but in Alfred’s defence, it was hardly the way most men described the women they supposedly loved.

“Oh, you English,” Prince Ernest said faux-disapprovingly, and smirked. “I think if you were to see Cleopatra bathing in ass’s milk you would blush and say: ‘Oh, I believe she is considered quite personable,’” he mimicked. Wilhelmina giggled and Drummond laughed nervously, and Alfred didn’t miss how he glanced at him again. He said nothing, as he did the entire exchange, and continued staring out the window instead.

 

***

Their carriages arrived at Blair Castle later than they had planned, and were greeted by the Duke of Athol along with an impressive amount of what looked like traditional Scottish solders, naturally clad in kilts with the clan colours, standing in front of the entrance. Exchanging an English military unit for a Scottish one was quite the opposite of what Victoria had intended, but the Duke’s heart was in the right place, at least.

Ease came harder to Alfred than he had hoped, although he supposed that was to be pinned on the duration of the trip, which was mildly exhausting. There was also the gloomy atmosphere of Blair Castle, with dark, high ceilings and fog sweeping the hills outside the windows of their residence. At dinner, they were served traditional Scottish good which, truth be told, was not very much to Alfred’s taste. He preferred the meals they were served in France, although he’d never dare to say it where the Duchess of Buccleuch could hear him; she, of course, seemed most content, enjoying her cock-a-leeky soup with utmost pleasure (and seeing how that was a truly rare occurrence, the Duke did deserve some praise).

The atmosphere at the table, however, was unlike the once Alfred was used to at the Palace or his family home, where the conversation flowered more or less freely and carelessly. In fact, there was not much speaking at all, save for Victoria and Albert’s polite enquiries on this and that about Scotland. Alfred maintained a vaguely interested expression, although he was hardly listening and instead taking every opportunity to sneak gazes at Drummond. he barely said a word since they’d arrived, which was not very strange since there was not much time to socialise. It was a shame not only because Alfred truly wanted to make most of this holiday of sorts, but also because he was incredibly interested in what Drummond thought of Scotland thus far, since he’d expressed his lifelong wish to see the land of his ancestors.

 After dinner, all Alfred really wanted was to rest, but their host had other things in mind. It seemed he was very eager to impress his Queen with all these formalities as well as with his ability to organise it all for her arrival, but it only took one glance at her to see all she wanted was a break from it. Alas, the Duke did not know the Queen, so Alfred sighed after he’d dressed himself for their event of the evening and, for once, wished he was old enough to excuse himself from such activities if he was unwilling, like the Duchess had in France. If he was being honest, he was a bit disappointed their stay wasn’t organised more like the one in France, where it seemed everything was planned around being able to freely talk to whomever one wanted.

They were led into a large, dimly lit room decorated in the same gloomy style as the rest of the castle. Other than Victoria’s party and the Duke, there were also numerous Scottish aristocrats talking in relatively low voices between themselves, and Alfred could already tell the evening would be far from the relaxed, mindless socialising they’d enjoyed in France.

“And now, ma’am, we have a special treat in store,” the old Duke announced after a short while. “As part of our midsummer celebrations, the renowned physician poet William Beattie has agreed to give us a rendition of his epic, The Heliotrope, A Paean To Health.”

Pride dripped from every word the Duke grandly stressed as he presented a young man (William Beattie, presumably) who stepped to the centre of the room. As the Duke spoke, Alfred gradually filled with more dread as to how the evening would proceed. The apposition ‘physician poet’ sparked nothing but worry, and by the time the Duke got to the name of the epic he would be performing for them, Alfred was sure the evening was going to be longer and more tedious than he’d anticipated. He glanced at the royal couple briefly; Victoria seemed as dreadfully inconvenienced as he felt, while Albert’s face remained politely blank.

“Your Majesty,” William Beattie practically chewed the words and then bowed respectfully.

Without a word, Victoria sat down on the sofa, and the rest of the room followed suit. The only person who seemed truly excited for what would surely be a most trying recital was the Duchess of Buccleuch, and Alfred could hardly say it came as a surprise.

“What is life?” the physician poet began. He spoke loudly, with utmost conviction, and bit the words as he drabbed on about the inevitability of death or something equally dull and depressing. Only a few lines in, Alfred wondered why the Duke hadn’t told them he was an actor as well, because the man seemed so immersed by his self-perceived genius it was almost comical. Still, not even this could redeem the overall experience of the so-called epic. It was insufferably long, painfully boring, and indescribably tiresome. Every time Mr Beattie reached an end of a stanza, Alfred prayed it was over, but then the poet would take in a sharp breath and start the next in a seemingly endless string of octaves. He could not see Drummond’s face, but he’d been leaning on his arm on the armrest of his chair since the middle of the third stanza, so he imagined he was just as regretful. Victoria and Albert were both sunken down on their sofa, as was the rest of their party by now, save for the Duchess who appeared to be taking a nap, chin resting on her cane. Alfred could not tell if it was because she, too, found it unspeakably dull, or she was simply enjoying herself, although in her case the latter was much likelier.

“But with the dawn,” Mr Beattie began yet another warning octave, “dark signs in sea and ocean,” he chewed the words in a most exaggerated fashion, and Alfred felt a hand on his shoulder. Prince Ernest stood up then, patted him in friendship, and simply left, presumably not bearing to hear another word. Alfred wished he had the privilege, but alas, he was not a prince, nor was he a duke, and instead a lord in the service of the Queen.

The poet continued, unbothered, speaking at a gradually increasing volume and passion; “Announce impending _dangers_ to our crew!”

Alfred couldn’t help himself. He let out a dry, breathy laugh because surely – _surely_ – this man could not be serious. Such exaggeration, the pretentiousness – Alfred couldn’t, despite his manners, remain serious after such an over the top announcement. The Duchess was slightly aghast, sending him a disapproving look, and Drummond turned to him as well, as if to scold him for his inappropriate behaviour. He looked down, faux-ashamed, but met his eyes with an amused, telling smile. Drummond smiled back, reading his mind, and turned back around.

“Clouds in motion,” the poet now spoke, either too immersed or purposely ignoring Alfred’s outburst. He was gazing up at the ceiling, gesticulating around, probably to symbolise the said clouds. “Gathered… condensed…. And into _blackness grew-_ ”

Prince Albert clapped. Once, and then again, and soon the whole room followed his example, cutting the poet mid-verse. It was a weak, cold applause, there only out of politeness, but Alfred could not feel sorry for Mr Beattie (who was now slowly lowering his arms and looking around in confusion) as he did subject them to what could almost be called torture for these last few hours.

“Thank you, Mr Beattie. That was- that was most… enlightening,” Prince Albert said politely.

‘Enlightening’ was not a word which best described the rendition, but it was most certainly the politest one. It mattered little anyway, because it was finally over, and Alfred breathed a sigh of relief.

With the event over and the guests thoroughly exhausted, there was not much left to do but go to bed. The room quickly emptied itself, as the Queen was, thankfully, tired as well and retreated almost immediately. Despite wanting nothing more than to lie in bed, Alfred waited until Drummond excused himself first. Now that all the sources of pressure had been removed, he wanted to be around him alone again, talk to him, test the waters. He tried not to dwell on the fact he valued this more than getting some well-needed sleep.

Finally, Drummond told an older Scotsman he’d been talking to that it was time for him to go and rest, so Alfred swiftly got up and flashed Miss Coke an apologetic smile.

“I’m terribly sorry, but I’m afraid I’m much too tired to be good company,” he said and, although clearly disappointed, Miss Coke nodded in understanding.

“It’s been a long day,” she agreed. “Good night, Lord Alfred,” she sent him a smile.

After bidding the rest of the room a short goodbye, Alfred left and entered a long, dark hallway at the end of which was a grand staircase leading to their rooms. Drummond was halfway through the hallway, walking slowly and heavily so Alfred, with his heart urging him forward, picked up his pace until he caught up with him.

“Drummond!” he called, smiling widely. “Off to bed?”

“Yes, I’m afraid the day was… most exhausting,” he said and smiled back, despite the tiredness evident in his voice.

“Yes, I couldn’t agree more,” Alfred nodded. “And that recital was… well. Rather tiresome, if I’m being honest.”

“Although amusing at times,” Drummond’s lips twitched in amusement, making Alfred chuckle and look down.

“I seemed to have forgotten my manners for a second there, haven’t I?” he pondered.

“It happens to the best of us,” Drummond said quietly, with that secretive small smile, and Alfred felt his heart rise to his throat once again.

They continued to walk in silence, up the stairs and through next hallway, until Drummond stopped in front of the door Alfred assumed was his. He opened his mouth to wish him goodnight, but before he could speak, Drummond quickly turned around.

“I’m very grateful the Queen has let me accompany you,” he rushed out, and then promptly looked a bit embarrassed to have said anything.

Alfred raised his eyebrows in surprise for a second and then smiled warmly. “As am I,” he said perhaps a bit too honestly, but quickly remembered himself and added; “You did say you’d always wanted to visit. If I recall correctly, your family–”

“Yes, my family!” Drummond said hastily. “They’re from these parts; I’m very much looking forward to seeing some of the countryside.”

There was something unusual about his voice, but Alfred merely smiled, thinking it to be wise to end the conversation there. He looked stunning just then, the faint light of the hallway candles illuminating the side of his face and making him look nothing like the serious politician he aspired to be; just a young, slightly lost man in search of something he couldn’t quite name.

“Goodnight, Drummond,” Alfred said, flashing him another small, brief smile before turning around and going to his own room.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took too long once again im sorry! cant say when the next one will be but hopefully soon bc spring break starts on thursday for me and ill have a week to try and resist the urge to play video games all day and write instead.  
> hope you enjoy!

The next morning Alfred was told the Queen wished to see the surrounding countryside of Blair Castle, and that they would be leaving shortly after breakfast. He got dressed for the day, well-rested and pleased with the Queen’s choice of activity – he didn’t dare think what they would’ve been in for had the Duke decided to take the planning into his own hands. And so all of yesterday’s tiredness seemed to have melted away as well, so he could freely smile and talk with his companions during breakfast, which was far livelier than yesterday’s dinner.

Unfortunately, the Duke could not be persuaded into leaving his personal army behind, and instead they surrounded their little caravan of carriages as they made their way through the lush greens of the Scottish forest. Alfred was a tad disappointed he wasn’t riding with Drummond this time around, but the trip to the nearby creek was incomparably shorter than their voyage through most of Great Britain. Besides, the company in his carriage was pleasant enough.

Their destination was quite charming; a lovely, clear creek encrusted with stunning large rocks and surrounded by tall trees. Many of the men helped themselves to fishing equipment as soon as they arrived, but Alfred did not join them – he was not much of a fisherman. However, it appeared Drummond was; he took one of the offered rods, put on his pair of fishing boots and went off to find a suitable spot in the creek. Although suddenly tempted, Alfred didn’t follow his example; his lack of fishing knowledge or skill would be evident immediately, so he resorted to walking around for a bit, seemingly admiring he nature when in truth he was trying to find a place to sit from which he could watch Drummond. Wilhelmina joined him shortly and, arm in arm, they chatted easily. Finally, Alfred guided them towards a large rock and sat on top of it, his gaze quickly finding Drummond. He stood further away from most of the others, back turned to them, and elegantly swung his rod in what Alfred guessed was expertise.

He couldn’t say how much time had passed since he began to inconspicuously stare at Drummond, but it must’ve been a while, and Wilhelmina’s voice brought him back to reality.

“Oh, Lord Alfred, isn’t the scenery sublime?” she said dreamily, staring off at the nature in the opposite direction.

“Heavenly,” Alfred returned truthfully, his eyes fixated on the curve of Drummond’s back as he once again swung his rod into the clear water of the creek. It really was a sight worth admiring, he thought before managing to tear his eyes off him in favour of giving Wilhelmina a small smile, but turned right back around as soon as she looked away. Indeed, the scenery was sublime.

The spent quite a long time there, Alfred sticking with Wilhelmina through most of it. He reckoned he would have plenty of time to speak to Drummond later (he wouldn’t want to disturb him from what surely required deep concentration), and instead enjoyed himself watching him from afar while talking with Wilhelmina. She was far more herself when the Duchess wasn’t around to scold her, and Alfred enjoyed her company thoroughly. That being said, his mind still drifted off to Drummond and the conversation they had last night, short as it was. His tone had been curious and Alfred’s mind could not leave the fact alone. He really must speak to him, he thought, but he wasn’t yet sure what he should even say. Pushing the question of his engagement so early on surely wasn’t the brightest idea since they’d only been away from the haste and stress of London for a few days (most of which were spent on a boat and in carriages), but unanswered questions buzzed in his mind insistently. How did Drummond feel about the engagement? Was his gratitude merely because he needed a well-earned holiday, or was Alfred’s proximity without as many distractions part of the reason as well? He didn’t want to allow himself to hope too much, but he couldn’t very well help himself. There was something, he kept repeating to himself – there had to be. It was almost becoming a mantra. Still, the evidence, although dangerously subtle, weighed in favour of it.

Finally, as the afternoon came creeping by, it was time to head back. The men put their fishing equipment aside and leisurely made their way back to the carriages. Only Victoria and Albert declined, telling the Duke they’d ride back on their own. The Duke seemed terribly uncomfortable with the idea, but the Queen’s mind was set so the Duke returned to his carriage alone. Alfred wasn’t very fond of the idea himself, but he knew better than to try and talk Victoria out of it. Besides, he was confident in Albert’s sense of direction, so surely there was nothing to really worry about.

Again, Alfred and Drummond rode separately, but Alfred consoled himself with the fact they had all the time in the world, now that they were here. His company not being particularly interesting after an entire day of fishing, Alfred resorted to staring out the window. The ride was slower than it had been in the morning, but he didn’t mind; it was all very picturesque, the way the dark greens of the forest looked as the sun set and the fog came creeping down.

He fell into a sort of hazy daydream, when suddenly the carriage came to an abrupt stop. Poking his head out to see what the matter was, he saw the Duke march towards the soldier he’d entrusted with keeping an eye out for the royal couple. Not being able to hear the exchange, Alfred got out and approached the exasperated Duke, but got his answer before he could ask what was wrong.

“The Queen and Prince have gone astray,” he stated, somewhat trying to hide his clear panic behind firmness and decisiveness.

Alfred tried to calm the Duke, although worry swelled up inside him as well; “They can’t be that far behind, surely –”

“I don’t understand how this could’ve happened, I took every precaution!” the Duke rushed out frantically, searching the hills with his eyes. “The mist is coming in, I shouldn’t have let the Queen out of my sight!” he continued, and Alfred really could find no words to console him.

“I think, Duke, we should waste no time in looking for them,” Drummond said as he approached them, seemingly calmer than the Duke, although that wasn’t particularly hard. “Lord Alfred?”

Alfred nodded quickly and followed him, glad to spend some time with Drummond today even if the circumstances were less than desirable. He believed his own words – surely, Victoria and Albert were nearby – but it was still a rather unfortunate situation. Alfred didn’t dare think about what would happen if they didn’t find them.

The Duke frantically rounded his men, organising a search party, and his voice died down the further Alfred and Drummond got up the hill.

They didn’t speak much as they climbed, looking around for any traces of Victoria and Albert. Drummond walked faster, and the longer they looked, the less fruitful it seemed. It was as if they’d vanished into thin air. Reaching a particularly high hill, Alfred followed Drummond to its edge, peering over the steep precipice at the bottom of which was a creek, much wilder here than where they’d been fishing only a few hours prior.

“If we fell, it could be months before we were found,” Drummond the spoke, voice surprisingly even and soft for how distraught Alfred knew he had to be.

Alfred’s let himself smile a seemingly amused yet worried smile as he turned away from the drop and looked at Drummond. “You seem very calm at the prospect.”

Drummond was silent for a few seconds, mouth opening a bit before he replied. “I’m more afraid of going back to London.”

He sounded like he truly meant it, Alfred realised. Drummond no longer looked down, but he didn’t turn to Alfred either, instead staring in front of himself at nothing in particular. Alfred’s admittedly rather fake smile disappeared, and his eyebrows creased slightly as he studied Drummond’s face, trying to read him, read what he really meant by that.

“Really?” he asked in the end, still searching his face.

Drummond finally turned to face him before looking down to his feet. He stepped a bit further from the edge then, closer to Alfred, but did not reply. Perhaps it was better that way – Alfred thought he knew the answer anyway.

“I noticed you reading the Iliad on the boat,” Drummond said instead, trying to keep his voice light.

“Not in the original, I’m afraid,” Alfred easily accepted the change of subject, his tone lighter as well. Ancient Greek was never really his forte. He paused for a second, staring out at the hills before them and braved himself to continue. “I find the death of Patroclus… most affecting.”

He didn’t turn around, as he knew the intensity his gaze likely bore would betray his casual tone.

“Yes,” Drummond agreed, his tone reaching that secretive, curious note. “The lengths Achilles went to honour his friend.”

Alfred’s lips curled into an ever so slight smile, and he couldn’t keep his eyes off Drummond any longer. “You believe they were friends?”

His tone was challenging, in a way, and his eyes roamed Drummond’s features, not wanting to miss any part of his reaction. Drummond blinked a few times, mouth slightly open in thought again.

“I wouldn’t know what else to call them.”

The answer was the closest thing to a confirmation Alfred was going to get. He fought a fully blown grin off his face, instead settling for an odd, restrained smirk, and petted Drummond’s arm before turning away and making his way downhill, pulse racing. The conversation could continue, of course, but Alfred didn’t want to try and push it. Drummond seemed inexperienced. Alfred was too, but it seemed he’d given the issue more thought than Drummond had, so perhaps walking away at that moment was the best he could do for him. ‘Lovers’ was what he, personally, would call Achilles and Patroclus, but saying that to Drummond could be a bit much, a bit crude even, especially considering that conversation could easily have been about the two of them as well as about the two Greek soldiers.

As Drummond caught up with him on their way down, Alfred realised he could not find it in himself not to inquire just a bit further.

“Surely the corn laws debate isn’t that bad?” he asked, feigning naivety and letting a calculated smile play on his lips. “To make you more afraid of going back than falling off a cliff?”

Drummond seemed startled, having stayed silent for a few moments before admitting in a strange tone; “I… no, it’s – if I’m being honest, it’s my engagement that scares me more.”

“Your engagement?” Alfred raised an eyebrow, and it took all his might to keep his calm façade. “I thought you said she was quite a personable young woman. How so?”

Drummond seemed to be struggling with picking the right words. “She is but… The marriage itself was arranged by my parents,” he said. “A wise political move they made on my behalf, really. And even if I disliked Florence, my parents wouldn’t consider that an obstacle.”

“And do you?” Alfred couldn’t stop himself from asking. “Dislike her?”

Drummond stopped. “No,” he said. “In fact, I care for her deeply but… I don’t think that I’ll ever, erm…”

“Love her,” Alfred finished for him, his heart by now far too hopeful to allow room of speculation.

Their eyes locked for a few moments. Drummond said nothing, looking thoughtful, so Alfred quirked his eyebrows in encouragement for he was now quite certain his guess had been correct. Finally, Drummond nodded and hummed in what sounded like agreement.

Alfred’s heart was practically in his throat. Mind racing with thousands of possibilities, he quickly settled for what was probably the wisest one. Still, he couldn’t fight a smile off his face.

“We should be heading back,” he said, pointing in the direction of the carriages. Drummond nodded, and they continued.

The severity of the situation hit Alfred again once they reunited with the rest of the search party. No one had found the royal couple, nor did they stumble upon any clues as to where they’d gotten lost. Pushing away the thoughts of Drummond aside, Alfred was overcome with worry once again, but no one seemed quite as horrified as the Duke. Figuring it was getting too dark to risk anyone else getting lost, they sat back in their carriages and returned to the castle. Alfred tried to calm himself with the fact that Prince Albert really did have a good sense of direction, but couldn’t help but remember they were all alone in lands completely unknown to them.

***

The night sky got darker and darker as the remaining members of Victoria’s party sat in a dimply lit drawing room in silence. The Duke excused himself from their company and went off to send his men on another search. Alfred tried to sit still leaning on his knees, his eyebrows creased as he tried to stop himself from imagining the worst possible outcomes of the situation. Drummond was the only one on his feet, staring into the fireplace with his back turned to them and drinking the whiskey the Duke had offered them to calm their nerves. Harriet and Wilhelmina hadn’t said a word, each in their own thoughts, while Prince Ernest (who seemed the least worried of them) was reading. The Duchess had been aghast when she heard what had happened, and she’d been restlessly squirming in her seat since.

“Such incompetence!” her loud voice made everyone’s heads snap up. “How can anyone _lose_ a _queen_?”

Prince Ernest laughed silently and went back to his book.

“It would never have happened if I’d been there!” she added.

“I should have stopped the Queen and Prince from going off on their own,” Drummond said, blaming himself entirely before anyone could react.

“Indeed you should!” the Duchess agreed, and Alfred had never found her commentary more irritating.

“You’re not to blame, Drummond,” he insisted. “Nobody, not even you, _Duchess,_ can stop the Queen when she puts her mind to something.”

“ _I_ would’ve told her to be sensible!” she argued with such conviction Alfred really hadn’t the energy to continue the quarrel. Instead, he raised his eyebrows defiantly – as if the Queen had ever listened to the Duchess’ advice.

After only a few seconds of blessed silence, she continued. “Who knows where they are now… Probably at the bottom of Glen something or other with their necks broken –”

Harriet let out a ragged, disbelieving breath and promptly fled the room. Never in his life had Alfred wanted to yell at the Duchess more than at that moment. Prince Ernest looked worriedly up from his book, closing it at once and going after Harriet.

Alfred closed his eyes, took in a deep breath, and counted to five in order to stop himself from snapping at the Duchess for her thoughtlessness and lack of tact. He’d already been a bit harsh, but could not find it in himself to mind; he was very much on edge, and she’d blamed Drummond when in truth nothing he could’ve said would have stopped the Queen. Once again, his mind drifted off to what would happen if the Queen and Prince really had died, but he stopped himself. They were going to find them.

The hours passed, dragging on, and one by one the rest of their companions retreated to their rooms. Alfred was far too tense to even consider trying to rest, and it seemed Drummond was too. They decided to seek out the Duke, who they were sure would not be able to sleep either. And surely enough, they found him pacing in one of the rooms, face laced with anxiety. He spun around when he heard them enter, evidently hopeful they would bring good news, but one look at their faces was enough for him to deduce it was not so.

“No sign of them anywhere,” he told them and went back to his pacing.

“Duke,” Drummond called. “I feel it is my duty to inform the Prime Minister,” he said regretfully.

The look on the Duke’s face was dreadful. The thought, he had to admit, filled Alfred with horror as well – the consequences were far too dire for him to want to think about. It wasn’t just the terrible face of Victoria and Albert; all their positions, their reputations were at stake. He comforted himself with the fact it was far too early to come to any conclusions. It was dark, and Alfred knew Prince Albert to be quite resourceful and understanding of nature. They hadn’t found any evidence to suggest they were dead, so perhaps the most sensible assumption was that they’d gotten lost and found some shelter to spend the night in. they had a better chance of finding them in the morning.

“Perhaps we should wait till daybreak,” he said calmly. Rashness was not wise in situations such as these. Drummond and the Duke seemed to agree, and they fell into silence once again.


End file.
